The Truce
by Solard
Summary: Set after Futuritis, "...everthing changes, because the gauntlet you threw down - 'most annoying brother-' 'STEP brother' 'Same thing...' 'Yeah. Right.' - Derek just picked it up."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own LwD, and the only profit I'm making on anything is the husband's change I dig out of his pockets when I'm doing laundry.**

~*The Truce*~

The truce, if you could call it a truce, is short-lived and brilliant. Like staring into the sun; you know it more by the after effects than by the actual doing of the thing.

…_most annoying –_brother_- ever-_

…step-_brother…_

…_same difference…_

…_yeah. You're _right.

(said with a brutal finality. Begrudgingly, even.)

In credit to you both, the conversation haltingly continues – strained now by the forced understanding so blatantly stated – for what you both silently, mutually agree is "enough" time to discreetly cover the dissatisfaction you both suddenly, inexplicably feel.

The détente marks the final 'Senior Week' activities unfolding before you both like an asphalt path; clearly delineated but slightly sticky with unfinished business.

But it _works_ somehow. And you find yourselves tying a knot in that rope it buys you and _hanging on._

~***~

"Case," he smirks, but the edges of his eyes are now guarded, "chocolate chip pancakes? Last hurrah, yeah?"

You smile at his sleep-softened appearance as he enters the kitchen. You refuse to be guarded because he's brought enough armor for both of you – _anyway, you threw the glove down, _first_, and he didn't acknowledge the _significance_ of it and-_

"Sure, Der; just remember it's a _last_ hurrah, m'kay?" You fidget with the griddle in a diversionary way before you say the rest: "We'll be in _college, _in separate quarters; you can't just barge over to my place at all hours and demand _breakfast._"

"_No_," he says it v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y, "Because 'breakfast' is in the _morning_, Case, so 'all hours' doesn't apply."

You snort, and then sing-song, "Wow, you figured that out all by yourself, huh?"

He smirks at you – _hardy-har_ – before shaking his head, "Anyways…does _any_one use the word 'quarters' to describe _any_thing other than a drinking game _any_more?" You turn and aim your best glare at him. "I mean, other than _you_, of course?"

The way he says 'you' comes out more affectionate than either of you is prepared for so you drop your eyes, turning awkwardly back to the range. You feel the hair at your neck stand up and suspect he's regarding you closely, so you shove the bowl of chocolate chips his way and, old habits being what they are, admonish, "Only a _few_ Derek, don't spoil-," then you laugh and he's smirking and it's _almost _like 'old times', "never mind, eat as much as you want," you say.

The uncomfortable moment is diffused, though, so there's that.

~***~

You sit at the dinner table about four days before you're due to take off in the Prince for Kingston, and everyone's talking over everyone else, like always. Edwin cracks jokes and Marti loudly calls for someone to pass the bread and Lizzie grins at your mom as she throws a roll at Marti and you can't bring yourself to do anything but look around at them all with a huge lump in your throat. You turn to look at George but catch Derek instead, eyes fixed and intent on you. He swallows hard, and you think, _he's going to miss them too._ You smile a little watery, and he looks down quickly at his food. When he looks back up, the moment's gone; he shovels food into his mouth and talks at the same time like always, and you think, _Ugh, what a pig._

~***~

"Case," you call from your room and just as she answers back, you surprise her by rounding the corner and peering into her room. You almost always make her come to you. "Can you look at something for me?" you actually _ask._ Politely.

She glances back down at the list of things she has yet to do preparing for the big move in – _god, really? –_ three days. "Sure," she says and then adds warily, "what is it?"

You make a face, "Uhm…I'd really rather you just take a look," you say.

She sighs, "Uhm – sure, Okay," and extends her hand. You place the torn notebook page into her hand and she glances at it. You've made as similar a list to hers as you can manage and she smiles, then stifles it – she doesn't want to lord it over you or anything, _and damn, when did you two become so _nice_ and_-, "Derek," she starts, "It's a, well, it's a list – why'd you need me to look at it? It seems straightforward enough."

You take a deep breath and exhale violently, "I'm not exactly _used to_ this sort of …organizational stuff, Case – just," you kick at her chair lightly, "_look_ at it. Tell me if I'm, you know, missing anything?"

She looks up at you and – _unbelievable!_ – lets you off the hook with a light shrug of her shoulders, "Well…okay – just, uhm, leave it here. I'll go over it as I go over mine and make notes on your list, okay?"

You feel more than a little _frustrated_ and start to insult her, but just say, "Thanks," and leave her room.

~***~

You roll over and turn off the alarm clock. _Yes, it's break. Yes, you're graduated. But you can't just let bad habits develop! School will start, and you'll need to get up just as early as before…_ You sit up and stretch before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, intent on being the first one in the shower. Gathering up your robe and scuffing into slippers, you grab your comb and a hair clip on the way out of your room. Shuffling across the hall you stop short. The bathroom door is closed but you don't hear anyone on the other side – no water running, nothing. You push tentatively and the door swings open. You walk in and there's Derek, a towel wrapped around his waist, peering into the mirror. He looks at your reflection and his razor stops in mid-stroke. "Don't you knock?" he asks mildly.

"Don't you lock?" you shoot back, matching his tone. "Or rather, don't you even latch? Derek, I just pushed that door open – anyone could have-"

"No one's up but you, Casey," he says quietly. He holds your gaze in the mirror until you have to look away.

An involuntary blush creeps up your throat, _you feel it_ and before it can reach your face, you turn around, "Well… let me know when you're out," you say – _too brightly! –_ and walk very quickly back to your room.

~***~

Feel Good Family Time time. _Your favorite, _you wince. Everyone's slumped comfortably in the living room, though; Sam, Ralph and Emily, included – _hell, even the 'rents – _watching a movie. _The Last Movie_, you think. _Annnd, you're turning into a chick._ Various amounts of popcorn in several mismatched bowls litter the room and the legs and arms of your siblings cross comfortably over and around, everyone tangled together. _Quite a comfortable tableau_, you think, _it only took the deportation of the two oldest sibs – _step,step,step _– to achieve McDonald-Venturi World Peace. _All is comfy and snug…_except for the not-very-secret secret glances Emily keeps throwing your way._ Because, of course, the sibling _you're_ tangled with – _loosely, come on! –If THAT –_is Casey and you're not-so-ex Ex-Girlfriend is puzzling the implications out for herself. Let her. _Figure it out, Em. _She's always been the One In the Know, why should anything change now? He snorts out loud at that. _Everything's changing. Too fast maybe. _

Em gives up finally – _finally! –_ and starts getting into the movie so you pick a particularly intense part – _you've seen it about ten times now, you're not missing anything_ – and you reach over the back of the couch on the pretense of grabbing the blanket draped on the seat back and 'inadvertently' _exhale_, very slowly, in Casey's ear.

You don't know why you do it, just going with your gut, but – _thankfully? – _she must be into the movie too, because she only reaches up and pulls her hair over her ear, but you notice her hand shaking and her arm covered in goose bumps. You swallow hard and pull your own arm down from the back of the couch.

You hook your foot tighter around her ankle, though. _And she doesn't move her foot_.

~***~

The lists are all made, all but a few items dutifully crossed off, most of your non-necessaries boxed, labeled and ready to be shipped, and very little but your overnight bag to be packed when it hits you: _I did it. I am going to college tomorrow, and not just any college, either. To Queen's University. To major in Law. Or Medicine. Or Women's Studies._

Oh well, it doesn't really matter what you state as your degree plan in the beginning, anyway, the point is you are finally _going._

Unless, of course, it DOES matter!

_Oh, god. What have I DONE?!?_ You accepted a scholarship at Queen's in – _whatever_ !– and don't know what that 'whatever' even entails!! You glance quickly around your room; the objects you've chosen to leave behind – the leftovers of childhood you can't quite part with but feel equally unable to acknowledge in your _new_ life – swim in an unrecognizable mass in front of your eyes. Your things…are out of place, foreign, absolutely _unsettled_. Annnd the realization hits. The big prank that you've been anticipating for weeks–

"De-REK!" you pull your door open and run smack into the object of your wrath, already poised at your threshold.

"Case," your name rolls off his tongue syrupy-sweet, fueling your already stoked anger, "I need your shampoo, I've got a date," he pauses and his eyes narrow, a wicked smile curving his lips, "with _Em-i-ly._"

You plant both hands on his chest and shove, hard, "No!" you say "You can NOT borrow my shampoo!" turn quickly and thrust your hand out, indicating your room, and "I _knew_ it was coming! WHAT have you DONE to my STUFF?!"

Derek's eyebrows shoot up and he looks around the room slowly, "Well I, personally, think it's an improvement," he glances back at you, "_whoever_ the designer is…"

"Oh, stop. Just," you grab his hand and pull him into your disaster of a room, "FIX it. Now."

He crosses his arms over his chest and studies you a moment. "Wow…this is serious," then he flops down on your bed, loosely folding his arms behind his head, "You've really gone off the deep end."

"Derek," you try to get your voice in control, "aren't you a little too old for this kind of behavior?" Sitting on the end of the bed, you shove at his legs with your feet. He brings his legs back up and locks them around yours. You bite your bottom lip to keep it _still_ and roll your eyes. "Seriously. You can't get away with pulling pranks in college." You free one leg and use your foot as leverage to free the other one then pull your knees up tight to your chin.

Derek's lips curve up, as he reaches for your ankle, "Please, you're _killing_ me," he easily – _almost leisurely! – _grabs your heel, "College is _the_ place to pull pranks." His hand his wrapped tightly around your ankle, "God, Casey, you ever going to loosen up? Ever seen _Old School_? _PCU_? _How High_?" You stare at him, uncomprehending, and his eyes get wider, "_Animal House_? Oh, for the love of pete – it's a _classic_."

"Classic _what_, Derek?" you squirm out of his hand, but he quickly grabs onto your other ankle. "A 'classic' is by definition something timeless…something ageless – not something you can _date_ by the slang the actors use to-"

You kick at his hand but he deftly avoids it and uses your momentum against you to catch your wrist, "Uh-uh-uh, you're the one who said popular culture makes use of the current slang to address many timeless themes."

You momentarily forget to struggle and stare blankly at him, "You actually _listened_ to something I said?"

"Aww, Case," he uses your moment of stupor to loop his legs around yours again, "just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't _listen_," he says.

You attempt the one-foot-removal one more time but Derek is ready for it – he just tightens his knees. "I think, then, that you are twisting my words." You go limp, "and anyway, _Animal House_ is stupid. I can't think of a single 'timeless' theme in the whole-"

He sits up abruptly loosening his hold on your legs and you pull free. You gather your legs under you out of his reach, but he just grabs both your wrists in his hand instead and you lose your balance, falling over onto your side and pulling him over with you. His head lands on your stomach and you both let out a little grunt. "Move," you gasp.

"No."

"Fine," you say. "I'm going to enumerate all the reasons why this behavior is – perfectly aligned with your taste in movies, by the way – childish and stupid." Derek lets go and holds his hands out – _truce! Truce! – _and you tuck yours quickly behind your head, "First of all, in the _real world_ Derek – and no I don't mean _MTV's_ version – people work hard to get into college," you try to glare at him, "their parents save for it, and a certain level of responsibil-,"

He rolls over and his chin digs painfully into your diaphragm, making you say, _"Oof!" _but he doesn't seem to notice. "Look, what planet are you from, Spacey?" He throws his arm over you and pushes up to sitting, "Eighteen year old humans experiencing their first taste of freedom from the parental influence do _not_, and I repeat, DO NOT all behave like the teen-agers in those 'Fifty's black and white flicks you like to refer to as 'cinema.'" You laugh and smack him on the arm but the corner of his mouth only tilts up slightly. The room gets really quiet and feels stifling; you realize that not only are you horizontal on your bed – _together! –_ but Derek is on top of you. Judging by his rapid breathing and the way he's looking intently into your eyes, he realizes it too. Time drags everything to a crawl and Derek licks his lips and your heart has – _honest to god!_ – ceased beating.

You flash back to last night, during the movie, and Derek blowing in your ear. You ignored him – _of course!_ – and pretended it was an accident. Even after he curled his foot around your ankle. (?!)

This…? Was no accident.

He looks at you, and you see every fleeting indecision jump across his consciousness played out in living color in his eyes. _Will I? Will she? What the-_ then he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. But you see it.

He _jumps_ up, visibly shaken. "Uhm," he falters.

You sit up quickly and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, "Yeah…" you say.

"Never mind… it's uh, it's not important." He bolts for the door, "Listen," he stops in the doorway, "Uhm…just, uh, yeah." He walks out quickly without a look back.

You stare after him a moment as the realization sinks in that whatever might have just occurred in your room, you've certainly forgotten all about your pre-college nerves, and that's good – right?

Uh, no. This was _infinitely_ worse. Because that glove you threw down? _…most annoying – _brother – … step- _brother… same difference…yeah, _right.

Derek just picked it up.

~***~

_**AN: **__I should be writing the next chapter of my Thorn-in-my-palm X-Files AU story. But I _wanted_ to write this. I know, I know – there's too much well-written, well-plotted, excellent fic in LwD's fandom to choose from…why'd I go and throw my story on the slush pile, too? Because I couldn't, after that whole last scene in _Futuritis, _not._

_Lookit. Where _ever _you find yourself falling on the line between Should They or Shouldn't They, basic psychology tells you that Casey and Derek? Are _into_ each other – and not just in a purely competitive, Alpha-Dog kind of I-Must-Win-Or-Die-Trying way. And when that situation exists in real life? Oh, it's so pitiably sad for the two principle players… because you can't help who you're attracted to. I feel for the kids, I really do. ;-)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own LwD, or the characters in LwD and intend no infringement herein. The only **_**profit**_** I'm making is the money I save by choosing Geico (because that stack of money with the googly eyes scares sh*t out of me).**

~***~

The first couple hours of the Trip to College go by uneventfully. Your dad starts out in the Prince with you while Casey and Nora follow in the new car. You know your dad and Nora planned that – she wants her chance to impart last minute "you're an adult now" advice to Casey. George tries too, but you distract him with the latest hockey stats.

At the first fuel stop, you switch passengers; Nora with George and Casey rides with you. "Derek," she sighs, "I have a headache… can we just, will you leave the radio off – just for a little while?" she asks. A glance tells you she ain't looking so hot. Nora must have…talked… a lot.

"Sure, Case," you say, "but we're listening to what _I _want when our little time out is over…" She smiles half-heartedly and leans her head back, stretching her neck. You catch a glimpse of the long, smooth curve of it, think of vanilla ice cream and force your focus back on the road.

About an hour passes when she yawns, stretches and pulls out some pamphlets on Kingston she sent away for months ago. You sneak glances at her as she bends over them, completely focused. Something about the way her forehead contracts in concentration, the tip of her tongue trapped between her teeth, just visible at the corner of her mouth… The sight is – _damn. You don't even have a _word_ for it. _Cute? Adorable? _Sexy…_

She just pops up and starts reading, studying – always, always studying, and so damned _concerned _with 'Doing Things Right' and… _Dammit, Casey… can't you just loosen up and fly by the seat of your pants…does _everything_ have to be by the book?_

And, you realize, you're mad. Really, _really_ angry, all of a sudden.

"Hey, Spacey McSelfAbsorbed, think you can, like, _drag_ your attention away from your stupid pamphlets and take a look at the map? I'm not doing this 'transport' thing for pure charity, ya know. You can't just swan around like some indulged princess anymore." It's needlessly mean, you know, but she hasn't said two words to you since the last fuel stop and - _And? _

She turns to you with a bewildered hurt look on her face, and you're instantly sorry your tone was so…uhm,_ mean._ "Derek…I'm just trying to familiarize myself with the area a little bit…" And she's _really_ hurt.

"Well – there's no radio worth anything for the last twenty miles," you breathe out hard, _what was the problem, exactly? _"Distract me with your babbling, okay?" It isn't the most gracious apology, but from you? It would count with Casey. She dips her head a little, captures her lips between her teeth, but she can't quite suppress her smile. _Forgiven. _You smile back, just a little.

"Okay," she takes a deep breath, "there's lots of cultural stuff to do…it's a _college_ town, after all…" She talks on excitedly about – you don't even _know_ what – you're not really listening to what she says…just, well, the sound of her voice is…_whatever._ _It's just…distracting, that's all. The drive is long, and your butt hurts, and she has this…this almost_ musical_ quality to her voice that kind of _soothes_ you a little and it's-_

She nudges you in the arm, playfully, "…you'll really appreciate this, Derek," and you're tuned back in, now, "There's a lot of pubs geared to the local college crowd, and a couple of them even have regular open mic nights!" Her eyes have gone sparkly and your mouth goes sahara. "There's even some 'slam poetry' – ooh, Derek – _you_ might even like _that!_" She lightly punches your arm again for emphasis.

You swallow dry and manage a smirk, "Have we _met_?" you say.

But she's on a roll now, "No – Derek – it's not like-," and she taps her chin in thought, and really, she's – _cute? Adorable? Sexy…? NO. Quit it. Concentrate. _"It's not like 'shall I compare thee to a summer's day' or anything like that…" She turns in the seat, really excited, "It's more like…uhm, _rap_ – or like, Oh, I don't know. It's more like edgy performance art than a dry reading of some old poem…" She's…_really, really uhm, _something_._ "I actually think you'd like it, Derek."

You snort and shrug, "Eh…maybe we'll check it out sometime," you say, surprising you both. You glance at her, startled a little at the collective '_we'll_' which pretty much admits that you'd allow her to drag you to something, you know, _with_ her and she's got this speculative look on her face and her smile has faltered just a little, but you take a chance and _don't_ take it back and then her smile relaxes and she reaches over and lightly punches you on the shoulder again and you breathe a little easier.

The rest of the car ride passes quickly with the same lively, uncomplicated conversation – both of you are startled when you pull into the campus. You're here. _What now?_

~***~

Saying good-bye was odd.

When the last of your neatly packed boxes were unloaded and placed carefully in your new suite room (Derek waived you off when you suggested you all go along and help him unload his…_trash bags_) and George and and your mom said their fourth and fifth 'good-bye's', he just stands there in your room for a moment. You're fighting the urge to grab him tightly and beg him to stay with you – just for a little while (because, you know, he's _familiar _and you're _real_ homesick about now) – but the practical side of your brain _knows_ he needs to get his stuff unpacked as it's getting late. But, and this is strange: you _suspect_ he's feeling the same way.

He breaks your peculiar reverie by reaching up and grasping you by the shoulder – not out of the ordinary, he's done it countless times, after all – but the touch feels… different – gentler, more of a… caress.

"Well, Casey, I guess this is it, huh?" he says and your mind casts about – _Oh, no! Don't say 'good bye' – not yet!_ You look up quickly and catch his eye. And…you just stand there.

Then this _really_ bizarre thing happens. He reaches up and quickly rakes his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck, just behind your ear, leans in and kisses you on the cheek. His face is just a little flushed – you know yours is too, you can _feel _it – as he straightens, clears his throat and says, "Let's have lunch – day after tomorrow, after we're all registered." He glances quickly at you and rushes on, "We can compare notes, yeah?" You nod dumbly and he walks out giving you another nonchalant wave of his hand.

But he's still a little flushed, you notice. Okay, odd, right?

~***~

"So…" You juggle your tray and shove your wallet back in your pocket while trying to scope a place to sit down, "Where looks good?" you ask and she looks at you in surprise, _'You're asking _me?' written all over her face.

She covers well, though, "It's really a nice day – why don't we go sit outside?" Her forehead creases a little, "I saw some benches under the trees and we're only having sandwiches…" she trails off.

You smile a little at her reaction – _always on our guard, both of us_ – and then hold your sandwich out to her, "Here – give me your tray and go pick our bench," the creases deepen, but she smiles hesitantly and takes your sandwich. You hold the trays up, "I'll put these up and find you," you say.

As you saunter through the cafeteria, aware of the interested eyes taking notice of you – really, you've got this part down to a science – you're slightly surprised that you're not really curious just now. So you keep your eyes moving – never landing on anyone – drop the trays on the counter, turn around and head right back to the door. As soon as you push through, you start looking for Casey.

She's sitting at a bench under a huge tree and her face is upturned, lit by bits of filtered sunshine. You're heart bungees in your chest and you remind yourself to breathe. You head over to her and walk up quiet – you don't want her to freak – and she just…opens her eyes slowly and smiles at you. "We're here, Derek. We're actually…here." Your mind flashes quickly – _tangled sheets, mussed hair, long legs, smooth skin, bruised lips, soft flesh –_ and _damn, where'd _that _come from?_ You manage to mutter, 'yeah,' and try to grin.

She talks on enthusiastically about the fact that you share a math class and begins to spazz about the study schedule she'll make for you both and you sit there, completely stupid because all you can do is repeat, 'yeah' and 'great' while trying _not_ to imagine her naked.

You finish your sandwich and – before you know what you're doing – hold out your hand for her wrapper. She starts to hand it to you but then stops and narrows her eyes. "Alright, Derek," she's searching your face, "what's going on? You're actually being _nice_ and you don't _do _nice." She huffs a little, "Well, at least not without a heavy dash of 'jerk' in the mix," she adds. "I'm starting to worry you're, like, terminally _ill_ or something."

Snapping out of it, you smirk at her, and toss the balled up sandwich wrappers, hitting her on the shoulder. "Yeah…I'm terminally ill," you say, "it started four years ago, and it's been a wasting, torturing disease."

Her eyes are still narrowed, only now with irritation, not suspicion, "Me? A disease?" she scoffs, "Pfft – you're the _plague_, then." She shoves your shoulder and stoops to pick up the wrapper-ball, muttering under her breath something about 'typical' and 'known better' and '_jerk_' – the last one actually makes you smile.

Balance is restored to the empire.

~***~

Fourth week of classes come and go. You've seen Derek four times a week for the last three weeks, Tuesdays and Thursdays for the shared math class and on Wednesdays and Fridays for the study sessions you planned out. _'One for review and one for preview, Derek', _you'd told him. At which point he mocked you, of course_ – 'They're both _after _the class, Spacey; wouldn't they _both _be review?_' Uggh.

It's Friday night and you had to decline an offer to go with a group of maybe-new-friends to see the movie, _Adam_, to keep your study session with him and he calls and tells you he _can't make it!_ You give up the chance to see Hugh Dancy – _Hugh Dancy!!_ – in a romantic comedy and now? You're stuck on your lumpy chair in your tiny suite half-heartedly looking over your _review_ of the week's math notes and the thing that _really_ burns? Derek is actually better at math than you, and he was actually the one grasping the concepts and …_helping_… you.

There simply is no justice in the world.

~***~

You just…can't do it. Not tonight. She smells incredible and looks incredible all the time, and the suites are so small – there's nowhere to get a little space. It's just you and her sitting on your bed – _or hers, on Wednesday nights_ – the scuffed sixties-era coffee table pulled up to your knees, boxing you in even more… and dammit. Four times a week – two of those times in tiny, little, miniscule, cozy, dimly-lit suite rooms… It's just too much and you need the weekend to get your mind off-

It.

~***~

When he walks through the classroom door, you're prepared. He skipped your Friday study session, didn't call to so much as offer an _explanation_ as to why and you've not seen or heard even a _breath_ from him all weekend. _And not on Monday, either, _you think. Oh, yeah, you're prepared. When he walks through that door you're going to look right through him to the front and –

Then he walks in, and it's totally _not_ what you'd planned. He's got a black eye and his right wrist is taped and you notice a limp he's trying – badly – to conceal and you're just about to move down to the seat next to him when in walks a very pretty redhead with his book stacked on hers and she takes the seat next to him, leans over and he whispers in her ear as she places his book on his desk and he chuckles and she blushes and, Oh! Why is your heart flipping into your throat like that? It's just _Derek._

After class the redhead looks at him and asks if he needs her to help him again and he – _finally! _– glances up at you and says, "Nah, I can take it from here." His eyes twinkle with mischief – _you've seen that look a hundred times _– and he turns back to her and says, "But thanks, _very much_, for the offer."

She gets up and walks toward the door throwing a friendly wave over her shoulder and for some reason you watch her until she disappears from view into the traffic of the hallway. You take your time and then swing your glance back to Derek, and he's just staring at you with that damn smirk on his face. And you're mad all over again.

"Well," you look down and begin gathering your things, "not even a month in, and you're already in a fight," you say without looking at him. "Let me guess – it was _her_ boyfriend…?" you ask.

His jaw gives a little twist, and he drops his gaze, then purses his lips and takes a deep breath, "Would you believe me if I said I fell off my bike?" He raises his eyes, but his chin is still tucked. _Oh please – that look may melt other girls, but –_

_I'm not _other_ girls._ You straighten your back, "_You _don't have a bike," you say. He straightens too, brings his chin up, and his lips tighten, "I _do_ play hockey, though. Remember?" And all of a sudden you're deflated. _His hockey game! His FIRST college hockey game last night!!!_

"Oh, DEREK – I'm-,"

"Forget about it – it's just pre-season, no bigs," he gestures to his book, "carry this for me, and _I'll _forget it too." You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding and walk carefullydown the risers and scoop his book up from his desk. Then you look into his eyes and you realize you can't read him right now.

"I really _am_ sorry, Derek. I thought you just blew off our study-," you stop yourself and try a half-smile, "You know what – never mind. I'm carrying your book; you're contractually bound to forgive me, now."

You turn toward the door and glance back to just check his progress. He's moving slowly but moving nonetheless, so you keep going. "So…" you say, "college hockey…brutal, much?"

He snorts and mutters, "Ya think?"

As you round the doorway you stop to wait for him. He catches up and rolls his eyes dramatically, "I'm not an _invalid_, Spacey, geez."

"Whatever you say, Grumpy McGimperson," you say as you start down the mostly empty hallway. He smirks – _'Nice try, nerd' – _but you know he's impressed.

"So," feigning disinterest, you ask, "Who's the redhead?" then crook your elbow out for him to take.

He looks down and rolls his eyes at your arm then puts his hand on the small of your back, "Don't tax your brain, Case – we've got some math to catch up on," he says.

"But it _was_ a fight on the ice, right?" you say. "Just to, you know, clarify…"

He just shakes his head, "Yes, dear…" he snots and you smile in spite of yourself. And like these things usually go, without knowing _why_, you're thinking 'step-brother' and 'brother' actually _aren't _the same thing.

Especially not _here_.

~***~

**AN: So, this is the next chapter that I have bled out for anyone reading… And by bleed out, I mean, **_**"Writing is hard!" **_**/Barbie voice. I'm good at vignettes, little scenes that have no beginning and no end…but **_**starting**_** and **_**stopping**_**? Not so much. That's what brings me here: Write a beginning, middle and end that actually, you know, makes sense. Go!**

**I would be very remiss if I didn't say in a pitiable voice, "Thank you," to everyone taking the time to read this. I'm usually a HORRIBLE updater (re: my Chess Game story; thirty chapters, and three – yes that's THREE – years later + still unfinished = 'nuff said) but I'm trying to fix that woeful weakness, too. I'm aiming for once every two weeks for updates – that's on the outside of realistic – as I'll be juggling that **_**other**_** chapter story, too. Feel free to prod me with a stick (ie, PM me) if I look like I'm asleep but not breathing (ie, I haven't updated in three weeks.) Oh, yeah – and do tell what you like and don't like. Helps a writer, immensely. **

**~Solard**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: For the last time, I do not own LwD, nor any of the characters, okay? Making nothing; zip, zilch: NADA. Geez. (What? Oh, I'm gonna have to repeat that line…each and every chapter because of legalities? Oh…okay.) Uhm…that thing I said? It's…uhm, not the **_**last**_** time. **

**Hey, look! Here's the next installment of **_**The Truce.**_

Chapter 3

~***~

It's been fourteen hours, seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds since you had your last study session with Casey. You're sitting in the most _boring_ of econ classes in the history of the already very boring subject of economics and all you can think about – other than a double stack of chocolate chip pancakes and how nice a nap _after_ them would be – is the person who would make you that double stack if you _asked very nicely._

Your mind wanders to _ways_ in which you could 'ask nicely' and while the imagery makes you squirm a little – "_Derek Venturi, feat. Casey McDonald in 'I Kissed a Girl and I Liked It'" _isn't exactly your idea of the safest of subjects – you can't deny that its _waaay_ better than anything the prof is droning on about.

"Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Venturi?" The droning voice interrupts a very key shot layout in your mental picture and your brain yells, 'CUT!' and frantically grasps at a term – any term – to satisfy the prof. "Well, Mr. Adkinson," you stall, "that sounds like a patent ceteris paribus situation" and you can't help it, you smirk, "in that all the factors are fixed except for one: the amount of education." Adkinson squints at you suspiciously, you think, but after a moment nods and moves on to his next victim.

Crisis averted – and how easy was that? Pretty much _every_thing, so far, in beginning economics anyway, can be summed up as a ceteris paribus question… whatever _that_ means.

You force yourself to stop thinking about…_what you were thinking about_…and take notes. Just in case.

~***~

_He's done it again._ You stare at him for a moment, gauging his expression for the slightest crack in what you _have_ to assume is a façade. _Nothing. Utter and complete sincerity._ You consider yourself a PHD in _Reading Derek_, so you should know. And he's …straight up. Holding his bag-laden arms out to you and offering you dinner. Well… such as dinner is for a raging carnivore like Derek, anyway.

You should let him in your room, really. You're hungry, he knows it – _perhaps he's brought some crackers_ – and it _is_ a Joint Study Night. But a vague déjà vu shudder passes up your spine as your mind teases of Trojans and overlarge Horses…and the thought gives you pause.

"What's going on, Derek?" you let your mouth settle into a facsimile of composure, "Did you spread some vicious rumor about me to your hockey buddies? Make a play for one of my new friends? _Accidentally_," you make air-quotes, "wipe out my account balance…_again_?"

His eyes widen and his mouth begins working in a pretty good impersonation, you must say, of total innocence, "AHH!" he mock gasps and nudges you into the room, tapping the door closed with his foot, "I'm _shocked_ –" and sets the bags on the battered old coffee table, " I _told_ you, the rumor was really just an unfortunate _miscommunication_..." Peeling his jacket off in one move, he sets it on the arm of the couch, "And Amelia? How was I to even _know_ she was one of your 'off-limits' friends –"

"We were sitting in the library, Derek, trading our notes and quizzing each other."

He rolls his eyes, "Casey, Casey… we discussed this. If they're hot they are, de facto, _not_ off-limits…" He sits down on the couch and starts removing items from the bags.

"No, Derek – _you_ discussed it, and I never acquiesced," you sit next to him and look into the half-filled bags, "Did you bring back my bottle?"

Derek rolls his eyes for the second time in as many minutes, "_Yes, dear,_" he sneers and reaching into his jacket pocket, pulls out your aluminum water bottle. "And before you ask, _yes, _I made _sure_ the tea was organic before I refilled the bottle." He extends it toward you but, just as you reach for it, he tugs back, "Get your own organic, fairly-traded, hopelessly-complicated-to-order-in-the-school-Caf-tea yourself from now on. I'm done with that."

"Derek – it's important to attempt to live 'green' – didn't you –" You stare for a moment, _is that-,_ "Lentil soup and cornbread?" You look at him quickly, "The vegetarian cornbread?"

He nods and attempts to wave off the uncharacteristic thoughtfulness but you wrap your arm around his neck and peck him on the cheek, "Thank you, Derek! That's so thoughtf-" You realize he's _right there_, so close you could kiss-, no. Not going _there_, so you start to pull back but his arm has snaked around your waist and he's pulling you – _ohgodno_ – closer.

And he kisses you.

He kisses you and you forget all about the vegetarian cornbread, the persistent hockey player come-ons and the fact that you just finished paying off over fifty dollars in bank fees. You forget that you're slightly piqued at him for mispronouncing your name in front of the cute barista in the local Tim Horton's so now he only, _ever_, calls you _Cas-SAY_. You forget that – _twice_ – he grabbed your arm and righted you when you were about to trip without saying a word – _and that was just yesterday_. You forget that he used to put pudding in your hair, butter on your telephone and jello in your shoes and that _lately_ he's been putting your (forgotten) pencil behind your ear, butter substitute on your favorite croissants and the change that falls out of your pocket into your shoes when you fall asleep on his dorm couch. You forget that he's been the thorn in your palm, pain in your neck, meddling, and at times mean, yet frequently heroic, but never outright _kind_ brother by marriage (only) for four years.

You forget all of this and just _kiss him back._

~***~

You don't mention _it_ the next morning after you wake up with her tangled in the sheets and your arms and legs. You don't call her the next day and – _thankfully _– she doesn't call you. By mutual unspoken consent, you both skip your Wednesday night study session. You can't talk about _it _but you can't stop thinking about _it_ either. _That kiss._

When your eyes meet hers that following Thursday in the math class you share, you feel the flush build from the very center of your gut all the way up and you're sure everyone around you can see it on your face. She blushes, too, and looks quickly down at her lap, and you're oddly stoked to see the little smile tilting her lips. You don't dare put a name on it – whatever 'it' is…but you liked it. So much that you walk her home after class and stay in her suite room the rest of the day. And through the night, too.

You're not altogether comfortable with that, either. But you don't regret it.

It's a good thing midterms were a scant few days after, because the remaining handful of study sessions quickly devolve into 'studying' _another_ subject entirely. You both pass the math, though; she with a high 'B' and you with a solid 'A'. She doesn't even mention the fact that _she_ didn't score the 'A' and you _think_ that might be progress.

You don't clear your head of her enough to notice much around you, so before you know it, the midterms are done and winter break is upon you and you both are packing to go home. You throw dirty clothes into trash bags and head over to Casey's dorm. Of course she's not ready and not for the first time you puzzle over the logic of doing laundry to pack _before_ you go home. Laundry is one of Nora's specialties.

On the car ride home you pull over just before you've reached the London city limits, pop her safety belt and pull her into your lap, grab a fistful of her hair as you cover her mouth with yours. She kisses you back, thoroughly, and you're hit by the question of why, on earth, had you never investigated this before…with her just a thin wall away?

She pulls away and looks at you, that small smile that drives you crazy tilting the corner of her mouth. "What was that for?" she asks.

"One more for the road, Case," you brush her hair out of her eyes, "in case you don't remember there's not a lot of private space at the house, and we live with two of the snoopiest sibs in the world." She sighs and slides off your lap and you instantly regret bringing up the fact that you _share_ home, and a family, and siblings. "Don't, Casey – don't start with the analyzing…and the guilt…and the-"

"De-rek!" And that – that two-syllable thing she does (or _used to_ do) with your name – is like a rubber band snapped on your wrist.

"Casey," your breath comes out in a rush, "_don't_ do that."

"_Do_ what, Derek? Have some sense? Use some caution? _Think?!_?" Her eyes flash, "Are _you_ thinking, Derek?" Her lips straighten into a razor line, "I mean with your BIG head?" And she _thumps_ you on the back of the head!

You grab the steering wheel, "Quit it, Casey, I mean it." You stare straight in front of you but you can't make out anything you're looking at, "If you remember, I wasn't exactly _alone_ in my '_thinking' _the last few weeks."

She blushes furiously and looks out the window and for a long moment, neither of you say anything.

After a few minutes she sighs again, still staring out the window, "No…you're not, Derek." She turns and looks at you, and… damn it; you're not going to let her manipulate you. "I'm sorry," she rushes on, not giving you a chance to even grunt, "I have been a _very_ willing participant in this…this madness…and now I'm just…I'm so _sorry_…because, Derek… this is…it's …" And she's _crying_, now for god's sake, "This can't happen," she gestures between you, "this is…it's _wrong_…Derek. You know it and I-"

"I _don't_ 'know' Casey. Look," you turn in the seat to face her, "I can't do the 'talking it out' thing with you." You search her eyes, looking for you don't _know_ what, "Do what you have to, okay? Just …don't _talk it out_ with me." You turn abruptly and grab the gear shift and slam it into 'D' then peel out onto the highway.

Neither of you say another word on the rest of the ride.

~***~

"Pass the rice, please." Mom looks up at George; they exchange a glance. Derek waits patiently for you to pass the dish, his face an unreadable mask.

"You asked! And tacked 'please' on the end!" The battle between concern and delight is decided and George goes for levity. He turns to Mom, "See, Nora? I _knew _college would be a good investment for Derek."

Mom smiles and nods, glancing ever so briefly in your direction, "I never doubted it for a minute, Georgie," she says.

You pass the dish and at the moment your fingers brush under the bowl, his foot touches yours under the table. The touch makes you jump and you gasp "oh!" nearly dropping the rice in the middle of the table. Derek smirks but the look is decidedly _not_ teasing and you flush and look down. When you look back up, you catch your mom's gaze and she glances away quickly.

"So, Derek," she covers the awkward moment, "besides etiquette, what have you taken away from your first semester of university?" You can't help it; you snort at the word 'etiquette' and immediately regret showing your cards.

"Well, Nora…" and he glances briefly in your direction, "I've had a _thorough_ education on economics this semester." He tosses his serviette on the table and pushes his chair back, "Like, even the most banal, sluggish, _unresponsive_ economy will _respond enthusiastically_ if given the proper _stimulation_." Then he smiles – _at you_ – and excuses himself to the living room. Remembering to say, 'please', of course. The jerk.

You don't check to see if your mom is watching you before you excuse yourself and head straight for your room.

~***~

Winter break has become unusually chilly this year, you think. And it's mostly your fault.

You're sorry for the comment at dinner and the petulance you've nursed like a bad hangover and so a few nights later you lay awake, waiting for a sound from her side of the wall and the 'squeak' telling you her door is opening then you get up quickly and stumble out of yours. Your timing, as always, is flawless and you bump into her, feigning sleepiness as an excuse.

"Watch your step, Spacecase," you mumble even as you reach for her and tuck her into a too-tight hug. She lets you, too – right in the middle of the hallway – so you bury your face in her neck and even before you know your lips are moving you're saying, "god, I miss you," and she's whispering, 'me too,' and you grab her hand and pull her back to your room.

As soon as the door shuts, you've got her clasped to you again; you fall together on the bed, she's pressed under you, clinging, trailing kisses on your jaw as you attempt to catch her lips with yours. This time is different; you know it, and her eyes speak the same thing. You pull up and prop yourself on your elbows and smile, "Hey," you say.

"Hi," she responds in kind and your heart catapults into your throat.

"Are you sure, Casey?" you ask. Her eyes close for a moment but when she opens them back up you read the certainty in them.

"Yeah," she says so softly you almost don't actually _hear_ the word. She snakes her arms around your neck and tugs slightly. You take her, finally, finally, finally _there_ in your own familiar bed and you almost want to shout in triumph. It's sweet and tentative and almost painful but it feels like victory all the same.

~***~

As quickly as it begins, it ends.

One minute you are sharing a moment of quiet armistice with him at the kitchen island, debating the difference between 'step' and 'brother' and in the next breath – _almost_ – you can't bear to look at him. You make some lame excuse to your mom early – _earlyEARLYearly_ – the next morning, about how you 'just have to get back before schedule' as the new assistant editor of the school paper (what? It's the _truth. _Sort of) and wheedle bus fare out of her for the trip.

And you cry. The entire trip back to Queen's.

Why? _Why, why, why!?_

~***~

"Well, looks like you've got everything, Derek," George reaches up and pats your shoulder, "including the last of my cash."

You force a grin back – and it's the first time lying has ever _physically_ hurt – "Yeah, about that – can you keep the pipeline open for a few weeks, George, I'm a growing boy and I, therefore, must eat."

George looks at you a moment and drops his arm, "You're no boy, Derek. You're – god help me – actually becoming a _man._" For a frightening nanosecond, you think he's going to start going soft, but just as you start casting for some escape monologue, he grins wide and says, "So get a job!" and snaps his wallet shut for emphasis laughing all the way back to the front door.

You start the trek back to uni thinking the drive is going to be a lot longer without - …without company so you're startled when, before you know it, you pull into the campus almost by rote. The thought brushes through your mind to surprise her at her door, _'Hey there, Case! Thanks for the sex. Oh, by the way, you left your panties in my bed – here you are! Have a nice life.'_ But you have trouble fanning up any thought more passionate than _'Why?' _

So you pull into your dorm parking and haul your trash bags up to your room, kicking the door open and fall exhausted into your bed instead. Not until the next morning – after you've made your way to the common room and scrounged some coffee and walked back into your room do you see the note on your couch – lavender envelope, some lacy design on the flap, _**must**__ be Casey's_ – that your heart starts double timing it, and you pick it up and rip it open.

_Dear Derek,_

_I came back early to give us both a chance to reflect on what happened between us the other night. I don't want you to think that I am sorry for it. I knew what you were asking, and I __wanted__ to say 'yes' – it was more than time, I think. We'd danced around it for weeks. It was __bound__ to happen. I'm only sorry that we can't ever know if it would have been more. _

_It's like that ceteris paribus situation you were talking about – all things being equal, we might have had a passionate, if volatile, yet epic romance. Except for that one factor: we are related. I can't get past that one factor, and I'm sure – once you let yourself actually __think__ about it – you wouldn't either. _

_I'm so, so sad, Derek, to the bottom of my heart. I know how you feel about tears, so I will stay away from you, well, as much as I __can__. This is __so__ hard! I know you're probably thinking, 'Stupid Casey – always has to make everything so complicated' but this time, I'm not, Derek. It just __is__._

_Casey_

Well, fuck all. You're apparently not even going to get a _say._

~***~

**AN: **_**Thanks to LaFolie for the prodding. Whew! Unlike most of my other stuff, I actually have a rough outline for this thing. This was the hardest chapter because I had to convey a LOT of different emotions and transition into the 'desert' phase of the story all in one chapter. No' easy to do, I must say.**_

_**Oopsies. Did I say 'desert'? Pay no attention to that hint of dry, arid places to come… Well, okay, honestly? There needs to be REAL conflict for a story to have impact. Right? Thanks in advance to those reading and (most importantly, really) **_**reviewing**_**. It's the grist for the mill(stone) people.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: It doesn't belong to me. The only profit I get is the satisfaction of a job well done ;-) **_

Chapter 4 ~***~

'_Casey. I know you have your phone on. And you're staring at it right now, hyperventilating. Get a paper bag and _breathe_, then call me." _

'_next message'_

_(long pause) (heavy sigh) (sleepy, thick voice) 'It doesn't _have _to screw everything up …just…get out of your head…and…call me back.' (another pause) (very quiet voice) 'please.'_

'_next message'_

"_Casey, Casey, Casey,' (huge, long-suffering sigh) 'the 'freezing me out' thing _never works_.' (throaty chuckle) 'Remember the _last _time you tried it?'_

'_next message'_

'_Hi, Casey…this is mom…oh, well, you _know_ that,' (offhand laugh) 'Listen, Derek's back in Kingston. He mentioned you might be having trouble with your cell…if you get this, call me at home so I know your phone's working, 'kay?' (muffled sound) 'Georgie? It just went straight to voi- Oops! – I didn't hang it u-'_

'_next message'_

'_Spacey… come _on_…after you delete this call me back.' (pause) 'I'm back in Kingston…not that that matters…because this is my cell…and it doesn't really matter where-' (indistinct swear word) 'and I'm turning _into_ a chick...' (indistinct swear word) (click)_

'_(tone)…End of Messages.'_

You stare at the phone in your hand, with your thumb hovering over the 'call' button. But you can't do it. You just…can't. You put your phone on 'vibrate' and stuff it deep in your bag. Turning back to your supplies, you continue organizing them by subject and day of week.

You'd disappeared from London with a few days left of winter break and determined that you'd stay busy organizing for the new semester to help clear your head. The library's open, and the Tim Horton's is a short walk away so you're set, even if no one is really around yet.

But you still feel like you are walking on stilts, a little off-balance and very shaky. Derek is still _right here. _Even when he's _not_.

Having gotten most everything organized – and _reorganized, _at least _three_ times – your thoughts rebel and tug you back to the night…_that_ night. No matter how hard you try to calm your breathing and soothe yourself with repeating over and over, '_I'm an _adult_ now. He's an adult…well _supposedly_. It's not _wrong_. We aren't even blood-related', _you still feel your face flush hot and like you're walking around with a big letter 'A' slapped on your shirt front.

You never intended to sleep with your _step-brother._ You never intended to be one of _his_ girls. You were, in fact, staunchly _opposed_ to the very idea.

So…how come you feel like that one night was _truer_ than anything you'd ever experienced with anyone else? You feel your face flush as the sense memory of that night – _was it really just two nights ago?_ – floods you, filling your mind and setting a fire low in your belly.

'_Does this feel good?' he murmurs and you almost laugh out loud at the absurd flash of thought that you've never heard Derek _murmur_ before. That he'd probably _tease_ you mercilessly for even using the word in any kind of conversation._

'_Yes,' you manage and you're trying to be brave, mirroring his exploration because you know that this is an area where – _perhaps – _he can _actually_ best you in expertise. And '_Shut up_ Casey – just _feel_,' you have to remind yourself _again.

'_Can I touch you…here?' His voice is absolutely _silken_ and you briefly toy with the idea that he _might_ actually be hypnotizing you. But you're way past the ability to resist._

'_Oh, yes, yes…Derek…' You realize you can't go back at that point…you've said his name, now, in the throes of passion and if you get out of this alive, you won't be carrying your dignity with you. As you feel the tears pricking the back of your eyes and constricting your throat, he does one of those little acts of kindness that he sometimes surprises you with and which keep you just from the edge of complete hatred for him,_

'_Casey…Casey, god…' He says your name too, so you both are _even_ again. And you think, 'awww, thank you Derek, that was really sweet…' Only now, you're not able to stop the tears._

_He's almost senseless at this point, so he doesn't realize you're crying right away, but when his lips trace over your temple on the way from your mouth, he _stops_ kissing you – _no! don't stop! – _and his brow knits over his drowsy lids and dusky irises, 'Casey…babe – are you-'_

_You lift your head and kiss from his jaw up to his ear where you whisper 'it's oh – don't…Derek…don't you_ dare _stop!' and the last bit comes out more a low, feral growl than anything else and he answers back with an impossibly deep groan in the back of his throat. You're both _lost _at that moment. _

_And _suddenly _you know. _

_No one would ever call you _experienced._ You aren't innocent anymore – _thank you, Truman – _but you _know _you don't have much of the anecdotal evidence on which to base any kind of authority on the subject of sex. Derek doesn't _'take you gently,' _or _'possess you,' _or _'ravish' _you like in _those _books. He isn't the sex god his reputation led you to believe. He's tender and thoughtful… hesitant, even. He takes great care with every touch and it's like he's in awe, almost. But so are you. You're right there _with _him, caressing gently the arms and sides and legs you'd only ever pinched and poked and hit in frustration, before. You're soft and yielding, feelings completely bare – a position which you'd _never _willingly take with him before this moment. _

_It's _you_ meeting _him_, as if for the first time. And you just…_know._ This time, with Derek – 'brother…step-brother…same difference' – is _It._ The _big_ one. The one that will mark you for the rest of your life._

_So, when you wake very early the next morning, disoriented by your surroundings for a split second until the realization hits you with the force of a three-story fall: you are _unclothed_ in _Derek's _bed…and he is too. Stripped of all pretense and so…peaceful. And ohgodwhathaveyoudone? And well…here you are…_

"Thought I'd find you here."

Your head snaps up and _there he is._ "Uh, Derek…Uhm…you're back?"

"Nice try, Case…Nora left you a message telling you the same." He sits heavily in the chair opposite yours and throws his pack onto the table. "Or are you deleting everyone _else's_ messages too?"

"I'm not deleting your messages, Derek." Your tone is haughty, you _know_ it, but it's too late to back down now. Besides. He snuck up on you. "I've been _incredibly_ busy."

He snorts. "Yeah. Five days before semester even starts. Mmm-hmmm." He uses the same tone he's used with you for the last four years. His face is set in the same audacious smirk confronting you since the first time you sat opposite him at a dinner table. The same carefully mussed hair; the same dark amber eyes; the same slack posture…

And yet, world's different, now. And oh, god, you're going to cry. Because all you want is for it _all_ to just…go _back!_

He starts shaking his head slowly, "No. Don't _do_ that, Casey." He reaches across the table and grabs your wrists before you can snatch your arms away, "You don't get to _do _that."

You struggle, trying to wrench your arms free at the same time you try _not_ to make any attention-drawing noise. "Let me _go_, Derek." You're trying to warn him, but it just comes out an ineffectual little puff of _nothing_.

"Look," he's looking at you more seriously than he ever has before. His face is pleading – like the time at Smelly Nellie's when he'd begged you to sing Sally's song for him. "You think this is easy for _me?" _he asks.

And something about his face – _it's always been there, hasn't it? He's always been able to _do_ that_ – it makes you cave. "I _know_," you say. You stop struggling, "you _hate_ me, Derek. This has to be _torture_ for you… the fact that you…that _you_…"

"I don't -"

"… you actually," whispering, "_got it on_ with…"

Voice raised, "I don't-"

"…with such a…" your voice breaks, "_clutzy, keening, grubbing-,"_

"I don't HATE YOU!" It bounces a little off the walls of the mostly empty library, and you're stunned into silence, staring at him. All the air has whooshed from the room and you feel as though – any minute – your lungs are going to collapse. He's looking at you – completely destroyed – across the table, his throat working like _mad _and he's less '_Derek'_ than you've ever, ever seen him before. It scares years out of you because you realize, as if you've just come out of a coma, that you actually _liked_ who he _used_ to be and it's _you _that has utterly, completely destroyed _that_ forever…

Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you process that his thumbs are tracing back and forth, back and forth over the insides of your wrists and you wonder, hysterically, _is this is the way he caressed Sally after their first time? _His_ very_ first time – _you know it was, because he told you – _and… _why did he tell _you_? Of all people?_

"SAY something, Casey." Your eyes snap up from your wrists-his-hands and you clear your throat.

"Uhm…I," you struggle for a moment to get your breathing under control, as he continues to look intently into your eyes, so you close them. When you open them back up, you're looking off to the left so he can't unnerve you, "I think…we shouldn't _share_ the two classes we scheduled together for this semester." You don't mean it to come out so…_abrupt_. His hands spring back from yours like they're live wires and now _he's _the one fighting for control.

He gathers a deep breath, and you _swear_ you see liquid pool up in his eyes as he looks away from you. He drums his fingers on the table a moment, and swallows hard. "Fine," he says after a moment, "I can take the math next year," he says. When he looks back at you, his face is back under control, somewhat, "I'll drop it this semester, if you'll drop the history."

Your heart plummets to your stomach. "But you really _struggle_ with history."

His mouth twists, "You're not the only keener around, Casey… I know a couple of guys who can help me out with the history." You feel stung, but you don't say anything.

He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, "You gonna be alright in the math?" he asks, and his tone has softened. It's the first time he's even _hinted_ that he's actually _better_ in that course than you. _He's never once teased you with that. Not once. _You feel like you're going to cry again.

You open your mouth but nothing comes out so you just nod. You both just sit there, stonily silent. After a few moments, he breaks the quiet and pushes himself away from the table and stands, grabs his pack and then looks at you for a moment. "You know," he shakes his head, "I love Nora," he swallows hard, "And Lizzie… the whole _joint _family thing…everything about it…its _good…_ George – he's _happy…_" He leans over the table right in your face, and his expression…is _torture, _like he's searching every dark corner of your brain.

"It's _all good,_" his eyes are burning right into yours, "But it's _killing_ me," he says. And before you have a chance to react, he's gone.

Tears well up in his wake and you fight to keep the hysterical laughter at bay at the realization that – frustrating and infuriating and maddening and _mean_ though he may be –

You've just lost your _best_ _friend_.

~***~

You see her weeks later walking with her head down across the quad. She's moving with purpose in the opposite direction from you, guided by some inner, super achiever homing device that you've never understood. You can tell by the hunch of her shoulders that she's not at ease, that she is probably still torturing herself for stooping so low as to-

But you cut that thought off _right now_. You make it a habit not to think of things you have no control over.

This _thing_ with her has been good practice.

~***~

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him in the cafeteria and although it's been a month and a half you turn abruptly and bypass the door. You tell yourself it's because you don't have much time for a full lunch anyway and grab a croissant and some shaved turkey from the campus coffee stand.

As you spread the butter substitute on the flaky pastry, tears well up in your eyes.

You're not hungry at _all, _you decide, as you dump the croissant in the bin and make your way to the library.

~***~

_Not bad, Venturi, _you think, as you scan the list pinned up outside your history prof's door. _A solid 'B' mark on the mid-term exam. _You smile; _Casey would be proud,_ you imagine before it hits you, _oh, yeah…_Right.

The good feeling deflates before you hit the pavement on the way back to your dorm. The hockey team has a game tonight, and you _should_ feel that crazy mix of pumped and nauseous. But you don't, because even though you've seen a lot of action in recent games – _especially for a freshman_ – that _error in judgment_ with Casey can only stay stuffed back in the boarded up section of your brain for so long before it jumps out and freaks you out again.

~***~

About a week before final exams, you're in the library, studying – _of course_ – and the swift realization snaps your head up that you are going to have to figure out how to get home for the summer break in the same car as Derek. With whom you've pointedly _not_ been speaking for the better part of the semester.

The two of you hashed out mid-term break with little drama and fewer words. With one perfunctory phone call, Derek informed you of his intention to stay on campus and arranged for you to take the keys – _silently, in the middle of Tim Horton's, not even over a cup of coffee _– to The Prince and drive home. By yourself.

Aside from the usual comments – 'Casey_? You're the one we'd expect to _stay_ on campus!' and, 'Awww, where's _Smerek_?!?'_ – the break slipped by without any undue suspicion from anyone that anything was wrong.

But you _both_ can't avoid going home for the _entire_ summer. And if you split it up…well, where will either of you _stay _in Kingston? You're both in dorms and since you've received notice to vacate yours for the summer, you're pretty sure Derek's had the same…

You pack up your bags in a panic; it's one thing to face Derek and the furious discomfort he inspires in you now, but a completely different story letting any of this out to your mom or George. You walk over to his dorm hall, and stop because you can't recall his floor or number! You push through the main doorway and search out a mail area or something of the like – _yours has one, shouldn't his? – _

"Excuse me," you stop a relatively harmless looking boy, "Do you know which room is Derek Venturi's?" you ask. He studies you…up and down…very slowly and grins.

"Wow…he really _has_ taken a step up, hasn't he," he says and continues to appreciate you with his eyes. You roll yours and stamp your foot in impatience.

"Listen…I don't have time for your foolishness," you take a breath, and smile, "Sorry – do you, by any chance, know where I can find his room?" you try.

His smile falters just a bit, "Yeah…uh, sure. Third floor, room #17," he starts to turn away, "It'll say '317' on the door," he adds and then walks away quickly.

You head toward the elevator and start to push the arrow up when a hand reaches out and lightly touches the top of yours, "Hey," you look up into an incredibly handsome face perfectly finished off by the most amazing hazel eyes you've ever seen, "You _really_ can't go up there, you know," he says and there is something vaguely familiar about the mocking tone of his voice.

"Oh, but – I'm just…uhm… you see," and you're right back in high school again, stammering out a string of incoherency when a simple – _get it together, Casey._ "Oh?" you say and tilt your chin up a touch.

He grins and leans against the wall, "Yeah…no girls allowed in the upper floors of the freshman dorms," and you _know_ he's checking you out even though his eyes never move from your face. _Smooth._ _No, really…He's actually good enough that you're more flattered than annoyed…and oh, goodness, Casey. _ "Too bad, really." He says it like it's 'too bad for _him_ now he's met _you'._ And oh! You're flushed, you can feel it.

"Well…my ride home for the summer is up there, and I need to finalize plans with it. I mean _him_." _Stupid!_

He considers a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "Well…I suppose I _could_ take a note up…I mean, if you were to ask me, nicely…instead of stamping your foot like you did,' he points his thumb back toward the entry way, "with Chuck over there."

You blush, again; you can't help it. He's flirting with you openly…and you _like _it. That hasn't happened since… "Uhm…let me just," you flip open your notebook and shrug, "I'll just write a quick -,"

"Uh-uh-uh," he flips your notebook closed, "You didn't _ask,_" he says and makes a 'tsk' sound.

You roll your eyes – _at least Derek has prepared you for _something_ good in this life – _"O-_kay,_" you sigh exaggeratedly, "Do you, please, if it's not _too_ much trouble, mind taking this note up for me -," you stop and look at him, "_what was your name?_" you stage whisper.

"Dex," he stage whispers back and folds his arms across his chest.

"Dex, hmmm," you say. _Interesting name._ "Will you, please, Dex, take this note up to Derek Venturi, please, if it's not-,"

"Derek?" He stands up straight at the mention of Derek's name and his brow furrows, the light teasing forgotten for the moment.

You stop too, "What?"

"Oh – no – _sorry – _I mean, it's just that, he's not in this hall anymore…"

You stare openly at him for a moment. "Really?" you hear your voice squeek. _He didn't even…tell me._ "When…I mean, how long ago?"

"Just yesterday – he's got in on the athletic hall." He smiles then, "Lucky bastard – they're much nicer, and subsidized. Most of his stuff's moved over."

Momentarily, the floor drops beneath you for a few feet –_ how am I going to get home?_ But then you shake your head, _there's always the bus._ But still…

"Uhm…okay…well, then I guess I'll just, a-hem," you don't really _know_ what.

He flashes a brilliant grin at you and his disarming hazel eyes light up, "I know what to do – why don't _you_ come grab some food with _me_?" His brows shoot up in question and you can't help but respond. He's so… inviting. So you nod, _'okay'._ Smirking, now, he holds out his hand and does a little 'gimme' motion with his fingers. You look at him and say, "What?"

He says, "Let me," and reaches out and takes your bag. _Oh my goodness._ You realize… _this_ is what you have missed all semester long. This... flirting and a gorgeous man thinking you're attractive who _isn't_… attached to all the _difficulties_ of a… confusing, prohibitory _relationship_.

And anyway, you still have a _week_ before you need to panic about rides home and conflicting feelings for a – _brother –step-brother – same diff- 'Stop it,' you think._

~***~

You start to head back into the freshman hall which – _thank god! –_ you won't have to move back into after summer's break but you stop at the door when you see the flash of a familiar smile through the glass. _Casey. _She's heading right toward you and you spin and slice quickly through the group of students lounging on the stone steps – _'Scuse me,'_ you mutter, barely making it around the corner where you collapse, breathless, against the brick.

You wait a moment and steal a glance around the corner. _It _is_ Casey…and she's with…_ "Holy shit," you whistle through your teeth.

She's walking away from your old dorm hall, smiling and laughing – _and blushing_ – with Declan Hallenbeck?! _Oh, no. Isn't going to happen._ _Not with_ that guy_. _

_You're gonna make damn sure of that._

~***~

_**AN:**__ Please prop my flagging confidence, and leave me lots and lots of reviews or I might think this fic isn't worth the bandaged fingers and stress fractures and carpal tunnel and new wrinkles. Really. I'm very pathetic. _

_And did I mention the blood-sweat on my forehead? Yeah…very bad. So, to recap: Reviews es muy bueno por mi salud.* _

_(*No Spanish language was actually hurt in the making of this message.) _


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I still don't own LwD, nor am I making any profit from this story. As a matter of fact…the only profit I get is reviews. And you all are richly rewarding me, there.**

**Which reminds me, those of you who read and took the time to review have helped me exceed my 'reviews per chapter' goal – I received ****17 reviews**** for chapter 4 of The Truce. So, a BIG 'thank you' and a roll-call shout out to:**

_Dimples08__**, **__secretfunnelcake, jaz719, my shangri-la, hushhushyou, mayfair22, Zuzzeroo, kmr04, Temple Trees, LoveJunkie, PeanutButterOreoCookieGirl, __**Kelly**__ (if you're reading: see the AN at the bottom ;-), CompleteFictionFanatic, ponderer, blairbear01, Vryn13, and Bitch-with-Wit._

**Now, on with…**

**Chapter 5**

~***~

You sigh and realize you're staring out the window; all your exams save one are finished – the general history final – and you find that studying just doesn't appeal right now. Your mind is otherwise engaged. Two 'official' dates and an afternoon cup of coffee and you have to admit, you are _falling_, just a little. Dex Hallenbeck is one of the most charming guys you've ever been out with. Not that your experience is so wide and varied, but with the meager pool from which you can draw comparison…well, you might just say that Dex comes out _way_ ahead.

It's almost as if he is the culmination and combination of every boy you've been out with – all the good qualities, that is, with none of the bad. If there _is_ bad – _and really, there surely is, everyone has some bad quality… _Well, you've yet to see it, is all.

Truman – _Ugh, the last, and the WORST_ – was full of smarmy charm, a snake with a smooth delivery and, as you found out, nothing to back it up. Noel was smart, and interested in the arts, and just a little bit of an anarchist – but in a totally safe way – enough to make him interesting. But he was just…_too_ passive. Sam. _Aww, Sam. _ Funny; you can never really pinpoint anything wrong with that relationship. You both are just so much better as friends. Max, well… He was decent, really and sweet… Oh, and a really good kisser. But, as Derek pointed out-

_Derek._ Before you can formulate any coherent thought, tears spring to your eyes and your reverie comes to a crashing halt. Swallowing the sudden and very huge lump in your throat, you go digging in your bag for a tissue. You pull out your neatly folded stack of tissues, and out with them a heavily creased piece of notebook paper. Curious, you open it up to discover an old scratch sheet from last semester's study sessions. _Derek's slanted handwriting; you'd recognize it anywhere._ Amidst all the numbers and math notations, you find a small block of upside down print and rotate the page to read it.

'_right around the corner,_

_at the end of the hall_

_just inside the other room_

_right behind that wall…_

_but you don't see me'_

The print is smaller than usual, yet you are sure Derek wrote the verse. _Must have copied it from somewhere,_ you think, and crunch it in your fist. In mid-crunch, you stop. _'Just inside the other room, right behind that wall…'_ _Why does that phrase sound familiar? _Thinking better of it, you smooth the paper and tear out the verse, then place it gingerly in your wallet. Maybe it'll come to you later.

There's only three days left before the semester is officially over, and you've yet to arrange transportation with him. Dex sort of waylaid your plans a bit…but he was a much neededdistraction. So you're _not_ going to feel guilty. But you know you have to face Derek, and soon. It's just that…every time you resolve to do it, your throat tightens and you start with the tears, and everyone who's known Derek for all of ten minutes _knows_ he 'doesn't do tears'. And, in your own defense, Derek hasn't exactly been chasing you around trying to get your attention, either.

Yeah. A little bitter, there, maybe. But, _come on_. It takes two to tango – _a slow, tender, unbearably sensual – _"Stop it, stop IT, STOP it, Casey!"

There's a tap at your shoulder and you jump, throwing your hands out from your face, standing and whirling all in one motion and – _speak of the DEVIL._

"I see all the Queen's horses and all the Queen's _men_ couldn't put Humpty McDumpster back together again."

And-

~***~

"de-REK!" _Well. You haven't heard her particular little dissection of your name in several months and… you actually think you've missed it a little._

"You scared the HELL out of me!" She manages a choked whisper. You chuckle, and that – as you know from countless skirmishes – just makes her madder. "What are you – why, I mean, uhm…"

It's funny, how you can watch the sane crawl back into her face, like in those chemical heat pads with the metal disk in them that you snap – it just…_rolls_ across her face. "Chillax, Speed Rager, I came to discuss travel plans."

One word, "Oh." And she sits back down.

Or, she tries to. Only, she'd kicked the chair out of her way when she stood up, so she starts to go down. And you're watching – almost in slow motion – but at the last possible second, your arm shoots out and you catch her. And god, it's so _easy._ She's got her arms around your neck – a reflex, really – but her face is so, so close. And, you know – like the second before you slap a shot in the net and you're going to make it – you could kiss her–

"You can put me down, now, Derek," she says, and you note that her face is very still. Only – and this is the interesting bit – she's got her lip tucked up between her teeth and her eyes keep slipping from contact and, come to think of it, she doesn't look so composed.

You let your face relax into a smirk, cock an eyebrow, "You _sure_ about that?" and start to let her drop.

"NO! Wait…let me," she gets her feet under her and her hands slide from around your neck and end on your chest where she gives you a slight shove. "I've got it, now, uhm, you can…" and she makes a little encouraging movement with her hand. So you let go and then place a hand on her shoulder. _Brotherly, very brotherly-like._

"How have you avoided wearing a cervical collar all your life?" You're trying for the old 'insult me- I insult you' bit, but she's not feeling it. Tossing your pack on the table, you pull the seat next to her, flip it around and straddle it, facing her. "Come on… we haven't talked in a month, you should be fully gassed up and ready to kick my ass…"

She bites the inside of her mouth and her nostrils flare a little. "Actually…" she fidgets with her notebook, "I was rather enjoying the hiatus, Derek." It stings a little. But the comment has no real bite, so you shake it off.

"Nah – you're just really soft, is all." As soon as the comment hits the air between you, you regret it. Because your mind flew there – _'…your skin, god, Case…it's so soft, you feel so-' _and you're pretty sure, from the eyes flying up to meet yours and the sudden blush on her cheeks, that her mind just met yours in that dark room. So, you play the gentleman and break eye contact first.

She doesn't say anything, and neither do you for a very uncomfortable span of time, until you can't stand it anymore, "Case," you can't help it; you beg a little, "I'm _trying_ here, give me a break…" And then you do that thing you _never _do with anyone. _"Please…"_ Your voice cracks on the word, and you feel the flush in your face, hoping she doesn't notice.

Then, something in her eyes changes. "Derek…" and it comes out in the same tone as your _'please'_, so you know you've kind of hit something soft and yielding. "I've, uhm, I've been meaning to call you…"

You snort, "Well, yeah, there're those _hundreds_ of voice mails you left me, Case…" you snap your fingers, "Oh, wait…_no you didn't._" Her head snaps up and something like regret faces off with the – _oh, hey there it is – _bitterness and its starting to feel like _Fight Club _in your chest. "Try again, princess."

Aaaand of _course_, cue The Tears. "I'm sorry, okay?" She swipes the back of her hand at her eyes, "I, it's just…when we-" and gestures madly between you, "and you didn't, and I, uhm, and then so much time …but then, like, and I didn't and, I just…" She sighs heavily, waiting. "You know?"

You stare at her for a moment and then shake your head. _Ooo-Kay._ "I have…no idea what you just said." Her brows shoot up and she looks at you wide-eyed for a moment, and if you weren't so fucking _irritated_, it might be funny. "Try _coherence_ Casey – it's one of your 'Big Words' you like to flaunt around so much."

Her eyes snap and you swear you feel the crackle of electricity shimmy up your arms, "Oh, right, it's been _too_ long – I forgot how much you love to pick at your 'keener' sister, like you're some-"

"_STEP!"_ Your legs shove the chair back as you lunge across the table, "STEP-sister, Case." You're leaning over her now, "You don't want to confuse the two – not after what we-"

She's standing now, in your face – _Just like old times_ – "You think I ever _did_?" her voice rises, dangerously hugging the edge of 'keeping this just between us', "You think I'd _ever_ WANT to?"

"Oh, no – of course not." You're aware your argument is attracting unwanted attention, so you lower your voice. "You only nagged me constantly for your stupid 'feel good family moments' every time something even remotely-"

"Well, _forgive_ me Derek, if I only wanted to _try _to have a decent -"

"Don't even try it, Casey," and this, you slow down for. "You and I left 'decent' behind about four months ago."

She pulls up, like you'd slapped her across the face, "Shut up, Derek," she says after a moment.

"Why?" And you really should stop. "Hitting too close to home, Case?"

"I said stop it."

"No you didn't – you said 'shut up'." You lean in further, "Make up your mind."

She tears her eyes away from you and starts packing up her things. You slap your hand down on her bag after she's gotten it all put back together, "What do you _want_, Casey. Do you want me to 'shut up' or do you want me to 'stop it'?" Her eyes slowly creep up to meet yours. "Be specific."

Her eyes narrow, "How's this for specific, Derek; shut up AND stop it?" She pushes away from the table and starts toward the glass doors. You stand there, fists clenching, staring at the spot she just vacated and then grab your pack and start after her. It doesn't take you long to catch up; her legs may be long, but you can still easily catch _her._

"Hey!" You reach out and grab her arm at the elbow and she stops abruptly, looks down and then back up again. Through clenched teeth, she says, "Take your hand _off _me. _Now._"

"You chill out and I _will_." You can do clenched teeth, too.

She gentles almost immediately; you're in the library after all – Casey's 'mecca' – so of course she doesn't want to make a scene in her 'holy place'. "Derek," she takes in and lets out a quick breath, "will you let go of me now?" She smiles – actually more of a grimace – and cocks an eyebrow at you.

And inexplicably, you find yourself engaged in a staring contest by mutual, silent consent. Her chest starts rising and falling faster, and you _know_ you've lost your mind because you aren't even bothering to deny the fact that you've _noticed_ and it doesn't escape your attention that you're breathing heavier too. "You didn't say 'please'." Your voice is absolute _silk_.

Her mouth twists in a nasty way and she very deliberately stretches up on tip toe and leans in toward your ear and in a tantalizingly breathy whisper says, "Please." The word tickles around your ear and down your neck marking a path through your chest, pulsing through and hardening you immediately. Your hand tightens involuntarily around her arm and you yank her closer until your mouth is at her ear.

"What are you playing at, Casey?" And for the first time since 'it' happened, you really _are_ angry at her…because this? Doesn't feel like a typical 'Casey Freak Out' – no, this feels more like _calculation_ and _games_. You're disappointed; you thought Casey was above that kind of shit. "You're not so sure, are you? Whether or not you like the idea of me…wanting you."

She falters, "Don't be ridiculous, Derek."

You whip her around and grip her by the shoulders, walking her toward the seclusion of the stairwell. As you push through the door she pulls away and circles on you, hitting you – _hard_ – on the shoulder, "Have-you-lost-your-mind?" Every word is punctuated by a hit. You grab her hands and struggle, breath coming in bursts, to shove them down at her sides. _And you thought _you_ were scrappy…_

"Quit…fighting me…Case…" You've almost got her subdued when she twists in your arms and wheels about, but you're still quicker and you grab her hands and scissor her arms across her chest and pull her tight to you. She bends to try to break your hold but you're much taller than her now – _huh, when'd that happen? _– so you just bend with her. She stops suddenly and you're hunched over her back still holding her hands, both of you just catching your breath.

"Lemme go," she huffs.

"No." You pant.

You're rising and falling with each of her breaths and hysterically, you realize that your, uhm,_ tumescence_ is pressing into her ass. _And so does she_.

"God, Derek…_please…_" You let go and stumble back to steady yourself against the opposite wall.

She props herself on her hands and continues to catch her breath. "You're wrong," she says, "I _know_…I just don't think…I'm not – I _can't._

Bitterness gets the upper hand in the match against regret, "Yeah, kinda got that." You feel the nasty little knife twist in your gut so you spit out, "How long it take you to hook up with Declan Hallenbeck, Casey?"

She spins around, "What?"

"You heard me." You run a hand through your hair, vaguely aware that you've actually worked up a sweat. "How long after you bolted out of bed with _me_?"

Dropped gaze, fidgeting with her hemline; yeah…you got her on that one_. So how come it doesn't feel_ _like a win?_ "That's not…I don't have to tell-,"

"Nope. You're right. None of my business…I'm just your 'big brother' is all," her head snaps up on that one, "Just looking out for my _little sister_."

"Stop it."

"What? Stop what? I'm just looking out for my _sibling_, Case – just making sure that my 'little sister' doesn't get mixed up with a guy who'll make her reputation _for_ her – whether she likes it or not – I'm just the fucking _sap_ -"

"What do you want from me, Derek? You want me to break myself over you? It's not enough that…that you got me…in- in bed?"

You stare back at her, bewildered. "What do you mean 'got you in bed'? You mean like, I _fucked_ you, Case? Is that what you think-,"

"God Derek, can you stop being so _base_, for just one second?"

"Why? And give you the satisfaction of thinking you _reformed_ me?"

"Like I ever _could_."

"Like I'd ever _let_ you."

She pushes away from the wall and grabs for her bag, "I'm leaving now," she mutters and reaches for the door but you take her arm and hold her back.

"Okay – wait."

"I don't want to fight anymore – I don't even know what this one is about, Derek-,"

"Gimme a second." You look down and realize you're still gripping her arm, so you drop it. "I didn't want to fight, either," you say.

"Okay." She's not looking at you, but at least she's not moving toward the door either.

"Right," you swallow, hard, and try to get your breathing back under control, "I don't know why this, uh, this – whatever it was happened, okay? I just…I wanted to get with you and find out when you want to go back to London…"

She's leaning up against the wall again, holding loosely to her bag and staring straight out the small window in the stairwell door. Breathing in deeply, she exhales real slow, "I have one more exam…and then I'm done." She looks over at you for a moment and then away again, "It'll take me no time to get packed up – I've been doing a little every day this week…so, uhm…I'll be ready by Friday afternoon."

"Oh…'kay, then," you reach for your pack, and sling it over your shoulder. You want to say…_something_…but you can't wrap your mind around it yet. So you just say, "Alright, then, I'll see you Friday."

Moving away from the wall, she reaches out and grabs the door handle but she stands there a moment. Without turning around she says, almost too quiet for you to hear, "I never thought it was just…_fucking_," and the way she says the word almost breaks you. Before you can open your mouth to reply, she's gone.

"Me either," you say to door shutting after her.

~***~

**AN:** _This one gave me _fits!_ I rewrote it twice. Sorry for the wait. So…you guys gonna help me hit 20+ reviews for this chapter? It would be nice…and I'd very much appreciate it! _

_**To Kelly: **__Thank you for the honest critique. When I went back and read, I realized you were right: too much italicizing. Part of the problem was the voice mails at the beginning. (maybe bolded would have been better? Dunno.) So thank you! I tried to use a lighter hand on this one…did I improve? (heh – Don't count the Author's Note's.)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own LwD. I'm attempting to even **_**not**_** own some of the things I **_**do**_** own. Anybody want to buy a bunch of old vinyl from the 50's? Yeah; didn't think so. So, to sum up: not making profit from this…or from a bunch of old antique records, either, apparently. **

**Chapter 6**

**~***~**

"How'd it go?" You'd decided on the way to her dorm that you'd just take the lead, get the ice broken up and cleared.

She looks at you, wide-eyed, her mouth quickly shaping an "O" and smoothing almost immediately. "Uhm, fine, thanks," she falters, "I made an 'A'," she says.

"That's Dean's list, then, yeah?" You grunt as she places a box on top of the box you were already holding.

Her brow knits a little, "That's right, Derek…" You watch her for a moment, over the top of the stacked boxes, as she swishes back into her room, before you head down the stairs to shove the boxes in the Prince. She's got another couple ready for you when you reach the landing. As she hands them off, she stops in mid-turn, "How'd you do?" she asks.

"I got by," you say. She opens her mouth, but thinks better of it and stands there a moment in silence. "Uhm…Case…?" you kind of nod toward the boxes. This load is heavier.

"Oh!" she says, "I'm sorry – Good, uhm, good for you, Derek." It comes out a little half-assed, but you can tell she's _trying_. She opens her mouth again, then shakes her head a little and kind of waves you off. It's awkward, and slightly random, but also just really _Casey_ and you feel kind of relieved all of a sudden.

~***~

Mostly, the conversation on the trip home tends towards the purely functional. 'Enough air?' and the requisite polite response, 'Yes, I'm fine, thank you', filled in with the occasional, 'This is a good song,' with a teasing reply, 'Since when did your music taste expand to include something other than Taylor Swift?' and rounded nicely with his one and only, 'Would you help me find a gas station?'

"Of course," you answer. "And maybe we could stretch for a minute?" you ask hopefully.

He glances heavenward, "Yes, oh ye of little bladder." But he's smiling.

Within fifteen minutes you find a suitably situated station with facilities and are both taking care of business; he to the pump, and you to the restrooms. You smile, a little smug, as you pass Derek entering the men's room as you exit the lady's and he shrugs back at you and says, "What? Might as well, if we've stopped anyway…"

Your breath catches a little at the realization that…things…are a little back to normal. You swallow hard and fiddle with the nearest rack of cheap shades. "I thought you liked 'em big with rhinestones around the rims…" You jump, as Derek feints back quickly to keep you from stomping his foot.

"De-rek! Quit sneaking up on me!" Blinking furiously, you swipe at your eyes quickly before turning to face him. He's smirking and obviously pleased with himself.

"…Still got it," he says as he shakes his head and, placing a hand at the small of your back, leads you out the door.

"Your 'mad skills' will bite you in the ass one of these days, Derek, I mean it," but you're repressing a smile at this point, too.

He throws his head back and laughs – a real honest to god guffaw, such as you haven't heard from him in longer than you care to think about. "Oh, really?" he asks between gulps of air, "Tell me, Case, how ya figure that?"

You're biting the insides of your mouth, now, to keep from laughing, "Because! You'll startle me sometime and I won't think before I kick you in your, uhm," you wave your hand in the general direction of his pants, "your _parts_ or some-"

He laughs even harder and you just stare at him. "What?" you ask. He reaches up and pats your shoulder, shaking his head slightly.

"My 'parts', huh?" Slinging his arm over your shoulder he walks you back toward the Prince.

It's familiar, and comforting; him laughing and you righteously indignant. "Well, I'm certainly not going to be talking openly about your 'junk', D."

He looks askance at you, "No…can't have that can we?"

You watch your feet and let him steer you both back to where the car is parked. As you stop by the passenger door, he drops his arm and starts to walk around, but you tug at his shirt and stop him. You look up and his brows are raised in question. Taking a quick breath, you say, "I'm sorry, Derek for…for everything."

His gaze drops for just a fraction of a second but he looks back up at you and kind of squares his shoulders, "I know." He swallows and shifts a little. "And you know I don't do apologies," his face breaks then, into a tiny smirk, "but if I _did_, you know…me too."

Before he can protest or react, you grab him into a desperate hug, sure that he's going to shove you into the pumps. Although his arms hang resolutely at his sides, he doesn't. And that's enough.

~***~

"You're home!" Nora hands off the newest family member to Lizzie and gathers you up together in a fierce hug. "Five hours seems like five days!" She sets you back away from her and studies your faces for a moment, "Okay – I'm satisfied," she sighs happily, "Neither of you look like you're starving." As you make your way into the house, the rest of the fam greets you in the entryway, a mass of excited voices and wild hand gestures. You look over at Casey, catching her eye in the same moment and the smile you share is genuine. You're home. All is well that _can_ be for now.

"I might not look malnourished, Nora," you say, "but I'm _starved_ – what's for dinner?" Everyone shares a laugh. Lizzie attempts to hand Baby Nathaniel – or 'Nate' as you've been referring to him in your head – to you and you dodge successfully, Marti jumps up and down vying for attention, Edwin tries to make some lame joke about your capacity for food consumption coupled with your 'scrappiness' and…seriously? You're going to have some serious work to do over summer pounding _him_ back into shape. Somehow, you all make it into the kitchen, a mass of teeming family togetherness. It's not so bad, actually.

Your dad finally finds an opening, "How was your drive, Derek?" And as you're shoveling some unidentifiable yet tasty hot casserole into your mouth you manage to answer some semblance of 'fine'.

"What Derek is _trying_ to say, George," Casey wipes at her mouth daintily and you roll your eyes, "is that our trip was uneventful and safe – because he _listened_ to _me_ and stayed under the speed limit." She looks to you, waiting for your challenge, but you dodge left and surprise them all by shrugging in agreement.

"Yeah, I decided to keep 'Gramma' happy over there and save myself the minor annoyance of her wheedling me the whole trip." …Wait for it…

"De-REK!"

And the crowd goes wild, again. It's almost _too_ easy.

~***~

Everything seems to have settled into, if not exactly _normal_, then definitely heading in the right direction. Derek starts working at Smelly Nellie's in the first week you're back, catching the odd shift here and there, for pocket change. You think, with no _real_ animosity, really, that he's probably going to find himself with a regular shift again within a very few weeks. Things just seem to work out for Derek, that way.

You, on the other hand, can't _pay_ anyone to hire you in most of the familiar places around London, and you vaguely wonder if the dearth of gainful employment is in some way attached to an elaborate Derek Prank. You dismiss the thought immediately, realizing that _you_ plus _employed_ equals less time Derek has to tolerate your presence. So, of course, he wouldn't pull a prank the result of which would equal more face time with you…

He isn't around the house much, though when he is, he's begun teasing you in earnest again and a part of you is relieved. It's truly good to be home; you don't miss the heavy course load _at all_, a fact which, while odd – imagine, _you_ not missing school work! – doesn't concern you at all. You worked your butt off the last quarter and the break is nice.

So…how come you're wandering aimlessly around the house, almost _pining_ for something on which you can't quite put your finger?

~***~

Home only a couple of weeks and you're already on the regular schedule at Smelly's; at the rate they're keeping you working you will have a nice slush fund built up by the time classes resume in the fall. Potential plans for the money occupy your thoughts as you fall into exhausted sleep on closing nights.

The exhaustion is good; keeps you from thinking on other things…

Everyone is usually bedded down for the night when you come home and move as quietly as you can through the door and up to your room. Everyone except for Casey, that is. Her sleeping form draws you from the door to the couch, where you stop and peer at her in the dark for a moment, before shutting off the television and heading to the kitchen for a quick bite and then up to bed.

Tonight you're thinking of maybe waking her, that maybe she _wants _you to wake her only she won't actually _say_ so, because then she loses and you win. You shake your head and chuckle to yourself as you pull into the drive and cut the engine. Of course she's waiting up for you. You know it, but you also know you're not supposed to _acknowledge_ that you know.

You push the door open with your knee as you juggle the small plastic container holding tonight's ill-gotten booty from Smelly's kitchen: the last piece of turtle cheesecake you won in an epic rock-paper-scissors match against Brent the cook. _Sweet Victory, indeed_, you think and crack yourself up again.

"Derek?" she whispers from the couch and turns the volume down slightly.

"Hey," she startled you a little but you recover, "you're up." You hold your finger up – _wait, just a sec_ – and cross into the kitchen and get a fork and then amble back to the couch and plop down next to her. You've caught her foot under you, "Move," you whisper.

"Sorry," she says and pulls her feet under her. You slide closer to her and brandish the fork in front of you both with a devilish smile.

"Turtle cheesecake?" you ask. Her eyes grow big in the dark and a smile that catches somewhere in your chest lights her face.

"Oh, yes!" She looks at the fork and her brows knit, "Where's mine?" she asks.

"Casey, this is loot, babe – I only made off with one piece-"

"No, I mean, where's my fork?"

You look at the lone utensil – _should you state the obvious?_ – and glance at her sideways, "Come on, nothing I've got is communicable. We can share."

She looks doubtful for a moment, then shrugs, "Oh, yeah, well… I guess I'll have to brush my teeth again anyways…"

"Whoa, alert the media; Casey McDonald Lives Dangerously." You roll your eyes and spear a bite of cheesecake. After you eat it you take your time licking the fork completely and then hand it to her with your best smarmy smile. "All clean, see?"

She giggles 'Der-ek' and grabs the fork from your hand and you sit for the next few minutes in relatively companionable silence while you both take turns finishing off the dessert. She gives you the last bite – even though, technically, it was hers – and you're not about to argue. You slide your finger across the bottom of the container to gather the very last of the crumbs and she rolls her eyes at you. But she's smiling.

Along with the darkened room and your proximity to her on the couch, the aftermath of sharing the dessert becomes almost intimate. You realize with a start that she's studying your profile intently and your breathing quickens just a bit. On the pretext of stretching you get up from the couch as casually as possible, "Well…" adding a yawn for good measure, "I'm beat. Think I'll go to bed."

She nearly jumps off the couch, "Yep!" she says, "Me too, early day!" and nearly knocks you from your feet swerving around you to get to the stairs. "Good night, Derek," she calls, swallowed up in the total darkness on the landing. You hear her door close a nanosecond later.

"Good night." You say the words, even while realizing she probably didn't even hear you.

~***~

You're fighting through waves and waves of heat, exhausted, sweat streaking the sides of your face and running in irritating trickles down your back. Ahead, timbers are snapping in two, littering each path you choose, effectively cutting off your every hope for exit. The air is stifling and your vision grows hazy; everywhere you turn, something blocks your path. You can make out the voices of your fam calling to you, "this way, Casey!"

All but Derek's.

Your head snaps around, there's a sound – a high-pitched squealing sound, blasting over and over and the faintest hope springs – fire trucks coming! You drop to your knees and crawl along the wall until you bump your head hard and sit up abruptly. You look around in a panic; you're in your room and the fire siren is your alarm, insistent and reassuring. Your hand shakes as you reach to turn it off. _So real_, you think. The smell of acrid air and sense of panic stay with you as you dress.

He's gone when you come down for breakfast – early, especially so for Derek – and relief and disappointment battle for the foreground in your mind, so you're distracted when your mom greets you.

"Casey?" your mom's voice breaks through your thoughts and you look up from the granola box you were reading, "You sleep okay?"

"Oh…Yep – sorry, mom," you turn your back to get a bowl, "just had a suffocating dream, again." She juggles baby Nate- _Nathaniel_, you think, _not going to let Derek's nickname take over!_ – gently burping him over her shoulder.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry – I know how those derail your day…" She settles Nat- _Nathaniel_ – into nursing again and sighs, "Well, maybe I _shouldn't _give you this note Derek asked me to pass, then, eh?"

Rolling your eyes, you meet your mother's gaze but there's the twinkle in her eye and you smile in spite or yourself, "No…it's okay, mom – Derek I can deal with." She hands you a slip of paper folded in half and you flip it open as you spoon some granola into your mouth. _'Couch. 12:30 am. New York Fudge Ribbon. Bring fork(s).'_

You nearly choke on your food.

~***~

For over a week you've followed the same pattern; nick a piece of cheesecake from Smelly's, bring it home after work and share it with Casey on the couch… in the dark. Each snack ends in varying degrees of silent intensity before one or the other of you gets up abruptly and bids the other a hasty good night.

You find a much needed benefit in your midnight dessert dates, though; that being the easy camaraderie slipping back into your relationship. If you're being honest with yourself, you know you still want more than friendship. But you're not often honest with yourself when it comes to Casey.

And, hey, you like cheesecake. And _she_ likes cheesecake. And Casey is easier to live with when she's got a little sugar in her. So, yeah; win-win situation.

~***~

"So," you dip your fork into another bite of the ill-gotten confection, relishing the rare opportunity to enjoy this odd little thing you have going with Derek in the _daylight_, "you can make off with these at the end of your afternoon shifts, too?"

He scoops an entirely unfair amount into his mouth, "I tol' you, ish ve' diff'cull fo mosh'–" he holds a finger up and swallows the large bite, "Sorry – that was too large even for _me_ to work around," he smiles cheekily at you and then affects a put-upon sigh. "How long must I explain the particular skill set that attends being _The_ Derek Venturi?"

You dodge his attempt to ruffle your hair, "Yes, but I also always assumed that your particular…_deeds…_ need the cover of darkness, D." You start to laugh but he moves in very closely and the look in his eye stops you cold.

"Most of them _do_, babe," he lunges in before you can get your senses back and kisses you quickly on the lips and, at the look on your face, sits up very quickly. "I'm, uh – whoa, that was uh –"

The doorbell whisks away whatever it was he meant to say and you seize the opportunity, "I'll get that!" you nearly shout at him as you jump up from the couch. He stands up just as quickly and you almost knock each other down trying to get to opposite sides of the room. He's running his hand through his hair and avoiding your eyes as you finally manage to skirt around each other.

As you pull open the door you glance back over your shoulder and he's looking at you with a mixture of trepidation and relief and you turn around quickly and pull open the door. "Just the person I hoped would answer the door." You stand there a moment, mouth agape, as your mind carefully plops the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle into place and slowly puts together the face with the name and _oh god, no –_

You turn around and Derek's eyes slide from the visitor to your face. There's no trace of the relief left, replaced now by something very akin to anger. Without looking away from you, in a very flat tone, he says simply, "Hallenbeck."

~***~

**Bit of a cliffhanger I'm afraid. I will try to resolve this one (and of course set up the next one ;-) within the week as ….**

**I'm signed on to do the NaNoWriMo, so for the month of November, I'm going to be pushing my output ability to the limit. I will try to finish this up, nonetheless. I don't want to nag, but you can help me by reviewing; tell me what works, what doesn't and mostly how brilliant I am. Seriously. It helps.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own LwD, I do not own it Fiddly-Dee, I do not own it with a check, I do not own one little speck; I do not own LwD, I do not own one tiny bit. (My apologies to Dr. Seuss… I do not own him, either.)**

Chapter 7

~***~

"Hallenbeck." Not a question, not a statement; a declaration. You realize your mouth is drawn tight, like the lip of that little imitation silk drawstring gift bag that Marti carries around like a Very Special Purse. So, with a great deal of effort you slacken your face and aim for _no_ expression. "Why? Are you here?"

"De-rek!" Casey glances an apology to the Dirtbag, "Come in! Please," she's saying it to _him_, but staring holes into _you._

Hallenbeck's face smoothes and settles into a smile with something not altogether friendly underneath. "I wasn't aware that I had competition for your…" and he passes a look over Casey that dumps a load of adrenalin directly into your blood before he looks back at you, "…attention." You recognize the thing now, hidden under his overt manners. It's _challenge._

Casey looks quickly from you to the Creep and back again. You see the faint beginning of panic in her eyes and decide – once again – to be the gentleman. "Well…" you keep your eyes squarely on Hallenbeck, "I'll let you two catch up. It's a long drive from Kingston." You stand still for a beat, until you're sure you've got his attention then you look at Casey, "I'll be up in my room, babe," and you can't help yourself, you actually wink at her, "if you want me." You glance back at Hallenbeck just before you turn and walk lazily up the stairs.

You almost laugh when you get to the top. Almost.

~***~

"So," he starts slow and spreads his palms out, filling the foyer, "You want to ask me in?" You leap just a little, trying to get your bearings. _Declan Hallenbeck? Here? Why?_

"Uhm, s-sure." But you don't move. He chuckles after a beat and shakes his head.

"I didn't know you were staying with Venturi, Casey…" his eyes twinkle and you feel like a field mouse entranced by a cobra, "should I be jealous?" The implication of his words filters through, slowly, and you start again.

"Oh! No – I mean, Derek's my – I mean, he's _not-_"

He holds up a hand, "Hey –a little competition doesn't scare me off," he tilts his head and one corner of his mouth lifts, "But _living together_- not sure I can-"

"No – Declan, Derek's my b- step-brother." You gulp air, "I live here. I mean, this is my house, too." You let the air out too quickly and feel lightheaded. "Let's sit down," you turn abruptly, take the few steps quickly and crumple into the couch.

After a second, he smiles slowly and follows you. "Venturi called you 'babe'. I assumed, sorry." He sits down and pulls his scarf, tosses it over the back of the couch. He's looking at you, studying your face, then, "Did I surprise you, with my visit?" His face is earnest now, like he's worried. That's not possible, though; Dex Hallenbeck never worries. Or so the legend says.

You ignore the 'did I surprise you' because – obviously, yes! "He's called me 'babe' almost from the minute my mother married his father," you glance up the stairwell, realizing you're doing it only after you've already looked, "it's a stupid power thing, or something." You look back at Dex, "Not an endearment, I can promise that."

He stares up in the same direction and something clouds over his eyes briefly but it's already gone when he looks back at you, "I wonder," is all he says.

You bark out a little laugh, immediately embarrassed, "Well, don't – it's _all_ sibling rivalry stuff, I promise." Only something ugly twists in your gut and you feel the guilty blush creep over your face at the mental picture that pops up in your mind. "I'm thirsty, are you thirsty?" You leap from the couch and grab his hand and nearly drag him into the kitchen, "let's get something to drink, shall we?"

_Thank god,_ you think as you turn toward the cupboard and pull down glasses, busying yourself with the faucet. You suspect Dex is one of those highly perceptive people who can look right through someone's exterior and see all the fleshy, sensitive parts hidden deep down. The better to _exploit_ them. Like a bully who's reformed into a devastating lothario.

Or a vampire. You shudder. "Here you go," you force cheerfulness into your voice and brave a look into his eyes. Nope. No bottomless blackness where his soul should be. Only a slight mischievousness tingeing the interested, frank questions he's – you just _know_ – going to ask. You brace yourself. Its coming, the examination; you know it is. It always does.

"So," and here it is, "How long have your parents been married? – I mean," there's just the slightest bit of mocking to his voice and you feel a little annoyed by it, "to each other, of course."

Long version or short version? You try to decide as he just waits patiently. You sigh. _Last week_. Why couldn't he have come here _last_ week? _Before_ the casually shared cheesecake gradually transformed into the standing Midnight Dessert…Date?

You look at him waiting expectantly. Yeah. Probably the Short Version.

~***~

He's put his hands on her, you just know it, and the knowledge balls up in the pit of your stomach like a bad hogie. All that cheese and different kinds of meat…_ Great, _you think, _now I'm hungry. _But you'll be damned before you go down into the kitchen and take a front row seat for Hallenbeck's particular kind of …_show._

Flopping over the edge of the bed, you dig around for a forgotten chip bag, or donut container; anything to calm the persistent growling in your stomach. Your fingers grasp the greasy edge of a crinkling container of some kind and you seize it in triumph. Doritos; old and slightly stale, crunched into bird-sized pieces, but they'll do.

You thought there was something happening, with Casey. Lately. Something...good. Like, the old stuff was there, like a shell, filled in with something… Better. Something – _you're turning into a chick _– sweeter. Like you'd been able to start over with no baggage.

At least at midnight, after Smelly's closed, in the dark. Just the two of you and a dessert. Like the next night would be even better, and then the next, and the next. And when you had sex again, it would be way more than sex. Like making lo-

_Whoa! That's not – quit it._ But… and not that you _think_ about these things, right? But, occasionally, you …do. Just like, what's the difference, seriously. Between sex and, and making love. Like, did you have it with Sally? And with a little bit of sadness, you realize instantly that, no. No, you didn't. It didn't come close to the way it was with-

Yeah. You're going to the kitchen.

~***~

"And then, we decided that their happiness would make us happier in the long run, too –we'd only have to put up with each other until we finished high school." You let out a loud sigh. "Only, through some cosmic bad joke, we ended up going to the _same_ university."

"Don't lie to the man Casey," Derek saunters through the kitchen entry and drapes his arm across your shoulders, "She practically begged me to go to the same uni – she just can't seem to live without me." You glance up and he's practically beaming at Dex.

You shrug his arm off your shoulders and stand abruptly, nearly knocking the chair over. "You were the one who wanted us to _live_ together, Derek – not me!" You turn to Declan, desperation overcoming reason, "I- I said I didn't want him to come near me! Not anywhere near my friends!" You realize you're giving away more than you should, but you can't seem to shut your own mouth.

Derek does it for you.

No, he literally places a finger at your mouth, "I know you can handle yourself with big brothers, Hallenbeck," he turns and looks right into your eyes, "especially big brothers who _care_ so much for their little sisters." Then he rolls his eyes over at Dex, "I'm sure you have all kinds of practice with concerned big brothers_._"

Dex's face flushes for just a moment – with anger or embarrassment, you're not sure – then he looks down at his hands. When he looks back up, he's completely cooled, "No more than you have, I'm sure, Venturi." Then he bites the inside of his mouth and says, "I can promise you, your little sister is in _very_ good hands with me."

You look from one to the other, and it dawns on you like slo-mo replay that you're possibly seeing the very beginning of a – Oh, god. They're going to _fight._ "No!" Too late you realize that your 'no' means absolutely nothing – or it wouldn't to anyone else observing the situation but it works, like a cold splash of water on Derek's face, at least. Not without a great deal of effort, either. His hands are white knuckled from clenching and irrationally your brain takes note of the way the tendons and muscles are standing out on his forearms and you feel an immediate lick of fire low in your belly. _Whoa. He has sexy arms. _What?

"Out! Let's –uhm – let's, Dex, let's go to, uh, let's go out!" You blurt it out and feel the heat lick at your face. _And would you please stop using the word 'lick'!_ "Yeah, uh, let's go to Smell-" Derek's head spins toward you and he fixes you with a 'oh-no-you-don't-not-in-MY-turf' stare. "Uhm, to Luis's. Great Italian. Starved, aren't you? Let's go." You grab his hand and march him out of the kitchen and through the front door. You're half-way to the car when you realize you've left your purse, the keys and thus your _escape_ in the house and have to go back inside.

"Just a sex –er, I mean _sec'_, Dex – I forgot to grab my purse!" Your face is flaming now as you pretend to not notice the very wide grin on Dex's face and push back through the door. He starts to follow you, but you push with your palm, "No – s'okay – you wait right here." Derek's waiting for you right inside the door, like he knew you'd be back.

You both stand there for a split second that feels closer to eternity and you notice his eyes drop to your lips and he licks his and your breath catches and then sprints in response. He moves just a hair closer and you back up, only you don't, really. More of a sway actually. "Just tell me one thing," he licks his lips again and your belly earns its Boy Scout badge for making fire, "why are you going out with that …asshole?"

His voice is full of early morning, wakened from a nap, just got over a cold huskiness and the sound of it almost, _almost_ breaks your heart. You can't say anything, just stand there, watching him watch your lips and he reaches up to your face – like he's going to palm some water from a faucet – and you snap out of it. You duck around him to your purse and spin to catch the door and rush out.

You pull the door closed, lean back against it and close your eyes, trying to get your breathing under control. "So," at Dex's voice your eyes snap open, "No competition there, huh?" You can't say it. You can't say what you know isn't true.

But Dex is more right than he can possibly fathom. When it comes to Derek, the game's already over.

~***~

**AN: I wrote the next chapter before I posted this one. So, seriously – chapter 8 coming as soon as I can edit it. My penance for leaving off for over three months. Hope you enjoy! A plea for feedback, I make. Kind of you to give, it would be. Channel Yoda, do I, when need of seriousness, I have.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I wonder if I could pick up LwD real cheap at a garage sale, you know, like that Jackson Pollack that was just sitting there at some ladies garage sale for, like, 5 bucks? I'd take it home, dust it off and go, "Holy Crap! This is LwD! Worth waaay more than 5 bucks!" **

**Yeah, no. I didn't and I don't, so, no profit whatsoever. Enjoy!**

Chapter 8

~***~

You've gotten used to it. Hallenbeck stuck around for the weekend, charmed the pants off Norah – _do _not _go there_ – and even had your dad solidly in pocket by the end of the visit. Good old Hallenbeck; the fucker. He's gone back to Kingston or California or the depths of Hell. Wherever. Only, now he calls. Every night. Well, nearly. You train a laser focus on the extension, willing him to spontaneously combust on the other end, and _still_ he calls.

So, you stop answering the phone altogether to avoid the smarmy sound of his voice and the furtive, almost embarrassed look in Casey's eyes as she clumsily wrestles the phone from your hand. "Ed! Phone!" has worn a groove in your vocal chords. The response is almost reflexive: the phone rings, you shout "Edphone!" and thereby continue to avoid dealing with the maniacal rage the guy inspires in your gut. Even so, everything is mostly back to normal. You still smile at her with your mouth full over breakfast, work at Smelly's, hoard Smarti Time, eat too much at dinner – it's not like you'd lose your appetite or anything – and participate in the all around McDonald-Venturi controlled chaos. _Normal._

The only problem is it's the 'normal' from before the Midnight Dessert Dates.

~***~

The end of summer break is quickly approaching – only a week and a half before you'll be heading back. You've talked Derek into going back five days early, a normally colossal battle won rather too easily, you think… and the easy victory worries you.

There's been no stolen desserts from Smelly's for over a month – since Dex started calling regularly actually – and the voice deep down inside that you desperately ignore keeps whispering that's more than a coincidence.

Truth is you cannot make sense of your ambivalence about Dex… He's certainly cute, has a great personality and is actually a lot of fun to be around. Totally charming. But.

The feeling you get talking on the phone to him seems more like passing the time than the feeling you had sitting on the couch in the dark, sharing some forbidden-

You stop the thought right there. It's just not possible. You share Nate- _Nathaniel._ And you're too different. And he has disgusting habits. And… That's all.

_But… he's actually an excellent boyfriend._

Stop it.

_Ok. _

_But you still miss him._

~***~

"What are you doing?" Casey flops onto the couch – after practicing yoga in the living room in front of you _and_ the television – thus interrupting a particularly intense homicidal urge. She already knows you can't devote your brain to simultaneous passion-driven pursuits so therefore you consider the yoga in front of you (_her body, tightly wrapped in spandex, glowing from exertion and sweat_) as guerilla warfare and strictly outside of the provisions of the Geneva Convention. Or it should be anyway.

"Watching _Lifetime_," you deadpan. _Might as well be, with her stretching and arching and-_

And it starts when she taps her fingernails on the coffee table. _Tap-a-tap-a-tap-a-tap._ Annoying habit; one she knows you hate. But you resolutely stare at the television screen and don't say anything. Then she starts in on the footrest of your recliner. _Bump bump bump_, repeatedly thumping her foot on the underside to some beat only she can hear. You slant a look at her and note the slack, slightly bored look on her face, and choose to remain quiet.

She tosses a pillow at you and you don't even bother to toss it back. "Stop it, Derek." You look up at her and your mouth drops open and you start to point out that she's the one who's _tapping_ and _bumping _and throwing stuff until you notice that she's barely suppressing a laughing fit. Her shoulders are shaking and her face is red and she's about to lose an _epic_ battle. "Come on," she struggles between gasps of air, "quite it… or I'll… tell George!" Then she loses it and guffaws silently into the arm of the couch.

"You have _really_ lost it now, Space," you're shaking your head, fighting the laughter building up in you, too and before you know it, you're cracking up and don't really know why. "What," you're practically wheezing, "is so damn funny?"

"You… you… you're so," the tears have started now, her eyes leaking like the steam spigot on the cranky cappuccino machine at Smelly's. "You're so…_ridiculous_… when you pout!" With the rolling all over the couch, she's practically teetering on the edge of it and there's only the matter of time until she falls.

"I don't pout," you're still laughing, "and you're going to-" Casey thunks to the floor and laughs even harder, "fall off." Only it sounds like you said Volov.

Casey peals into another wild guffaw, "Where's Volov?" she asks, "And why am I going there?" And the built up tension and frustration and anger of a month find release – finally – and you cannot stop laughing. Eventually, you both stop and she calms and quiets, still on the floor between the table and sofa. "I miss you – this." She's so quiet, you're not sure you hear the words but you pick up on the tone and you know what she means.

"Yeah," you say. You shift, uncomfortable in your chair.

The air is buzzing almost, you'd swear, because the room gets so quiet. "Can we call a truce, Derek?" You look over at her, thinking impure thoughts, how you'd love to call a cease fire, maybe; force her to surrender… how you'd enjoy negotiating the terms of that surrender. And it hits you.

This is it. This is all it _can_ be. She can't give you more. You breathe in deep and exhale, nice and slow.

"Yeah… yeah, Casey. We can do that."

~***~

Later, when you've been back at school for several months and seen very little of Derek, that conversation comes back to haunt you. The truce was completely successful, maybe too much so. All of the rancor and viciousness dissipated and you both were left with an easy camaraderie, yet there remained a slight guardedness to every encounter. You still fought and teased and picked…but it was like you both were waiting or avoiding… or something.

The trip back to school was uneventful, enjoyable enough, but without any …oh, who knew. You don't know why you're questioning a situation which you used to fervently wish for. Peace, with Derek! It used to be all you thought you needed to get along in the McDonald-Venturi joint venture.

Dex was another thing altogether. He was everything a boyfriend should be, and you felt …privileged dating him, really. He was cool – in every sense of the word and he made you feel like a queen when you were out with him. But…

But what? The only thing missing was something you didn't used to miss very much at all. The thorn in your side, the fly in your ointment, the bug up your ass, the hitch in your plans, the….

No. You're not going to say it, think it, even. You just can't.

If Dex wasn't enough then you really were 'Crazy McSpaceyPants'. _Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry._ You'd just have to make him be enough. Because you just couldn't have…the thing you couldn't have.

_Do not-_

~***~

The truce. The moment it hit you that she simply couldn't give you what you wanted, it was like you could see clearly for the first time in a long time. Like you'd been walking through fog, thick and icy, dulling your senses, and all of a sudden it cleared and you knew. You just _knew_, like you know the series of steps involved in a neutral zone regroup. You don't have to stop in the middle of the ice to figure it out, the moves are just there. More than in your head, they're a part of you.

And the minute you figured it out, you realized that you probably weren't ready for it even if she _could_ give it to you. There was just too much shit surrounding the whole situation – not just the 'rents and Nate and Ed and Lizzy and Marti, either. They would come around given time, hell, you could _make_ them come around if you wanted.

But it would be like winning a game by forfeit. A hollow victory, no glory involved.

Nope… it was more than that. It was Casey, sure – wasn't it _always? _But – and here was the real kicker – it was _you_, too. Not that you didn't want her, hell no, your palms practically _itched_ with the wanting. She wanted you, too. She'd deny it, of course, but you knew better. Knew _her_ better. If by some weird twist of fate or chance or any of that other bullshit you didn't really believe in put her back in your bed again and all the other shit was shoveled out of the way… Well, there would still be that thing in the back of your head, that stupid voice – probably _her_ voice – saying, 'it's not _right_!'

So, you did the 'right' thing and you let her off the hook and you walked away. It was gradual, sure. You were closer the rest of the summer than you'd ever been except for that one night. The old rivalry was back, but without the bite and the 'rents were beaming at the maturity their two oldest had achieved. Everybody was happy, it was great, yada yada.

Except you. And Casey. You knew it. You could _see_ it. But you couldn't _change _it.

~***~

'_Answer your phone, Venturi, stop ignoring me.'_ You'd left him similar messages for two days and had yet to get a call back. Not even a voice mail left long after 10 p.m. when he knew you'd be asleep and wouldn't answer. It was irritating.

Well, no. You're worried. You haven't seen him around school for over two weeks – except for his hockey games which you attend religiously, even _if_ you have a huge test to study for and no other time to study. You just take your materials to the arena and study there. He always waves a glove up in your general direction, even though you don't get a snack with him after the game much anymore. He's with a girl right now and she goes with him and it's too much like being the third wheel , especially because she _tries so hard_ to make you feel included, maybe to counter Derek's complete indifference toward you …and anyway, you're okay with it because things with Dex are still going strong and you're, you're happy. So, yeah.

Maybe things were getting a little _too_ strong with Dex, because he's pushing you to be exclusive and you can't get past the ambivalent stage – which is _not _like you _at all_ – and he seems to be entering the wear-my-ring stage and you could really use some face time with Derek and his advice-

And no, you did NOT just think of asking Derek's advice. _Derek…_ You try his phone again and it goes to voice mail again so after the beep you try, "I need your advice. Call me." Heh. That should get a response. Or a mild shock-induced infarction. Whatever. You're not picky.

~***~

The car is suffocating. Derek cranked the heat because Jessica's always cold and he doesn't care how anyone else is sweltering as long as she doesn't complain. You turn to Dex and smile a little ruefully and shrug your shoulders. He leans over and whispers, "S'okay. We _might_ make it before heat stroke sets in…" You try not to giggle and as you go back to looking out the window, you catch Derek's eyes in the rearview mirror. He smiles very brief and very tight and then looks away again. You only realize you let out a sigh when Dex leans over again and says, "Hang in there, sweets," and you have that vague dissatisfied feeling you get when he inevitably misreads you. But you smile at him anyway. He really has been perfect towards you…

"Okay," Derek pulls the keys and twirls them around his finger a couple of times, "We're here – hope yur hungry, pilgrims, cuzn weer gettin' a heap o' cowboy grub tonight!" Jessica dissolves in twittery little giggles at his very bad accent and you just roll your eyes. Dex smirks at the mirror.

"Lone Star Texas Grill, eh? Wow." Derek shoots him a very level glance, and you can tell he's trying – in a completely Neanderthal way – to make this work.

"Yeah, couldn't find any alfalfa or wheat grass anywhere," he said. Then he smiles, "that _is_ what you eat in California, right?" He doesn't wait for Dex to answer, "Anyway – there's meat, and plenty of it, so I'm good." He turns to Jessica, asks, "Ready?" She only giggles in answer. _Really long on the brains, this one._

You step out of the car and shut the door and turn and you're face to face with Derek. There's a split second where something clouds his eyes but it's gone just as fast. "After you, McDonald," he sweeps his arm and you step ahead to wait for Dex to cross around behind the car.

It's odd that you don't call each other by your first names anymore. He hasn't called you 'Spacey' in probably six months; 'De-Rek' hasn't crossed your lips once in as long. Just 'McDonald' and 'Venturi', like the old nicknames are totems of some sort. Conjurers of some dangerous dark magic. And neither of you wants to bring down the bad juju.

You shake your head and smile at Dex's inquisitive look, "Nothing just – come on," you say and let him lead you into the restaurant. You doubt Dex would understand dark magic, juju and the complex structure of dysfunction that formed your relationship with Derek.

~***~

At first the stated purpose of the dates was to observe, and give Casey your take on her relationship with Dex. Her words, exactly. You would, at that point, had almost rather shoved a rusty nail into your forearm than go, but…well, it was Casey and she was the magnet to your steel. You couldn't _not_ go. At least you had Jessica to distract you.

At first.

The dates continued – either Casey felt the need of a security blanket or Dex had you completely figured out and possessed a very wicked sense of humour…either way, they kept asking and you grumbled… but kept going. Everything remained pretty much to script, but the girl sitting next to you. You are _the_ Derek Venturi, so getting dates has never been a problem. The problem was sticking with one. Casey and Dex plus Derek and …whoever. You literally marked the progression of Casey and Dex's relationship through double dates with the changing babe of the month.

Jessica was the 'slightly uncomfortable' beginning. Tru marked the 'messy but intensifying' stage. Belinda brought in the 'yeah, they've done IT' stage. Candice made it through the 'isn't he gone _yet_' stage. Erica was the 'crap, this looks serious' stage. Felicia filled in for the 'what kind of a ring is _that_?' stage. Erica came back in for the 'I can't stick around and watch this anymore' stage. Then… the double dates ended.

You'd broken it off with Erica for the second and final time and – unintentionally or not – remained single long enough that Casey and Dex stopped calling. Probably for the better, anyway. The whole thing put you into a very weird head space and you weren't about to pass on the opportunity to ditch them without having to actually _do_ anything.

By spring of your second year at university, you'd heard that Casey and Dex were married, or living together or engaged or whatever and after the sixth or seventh rumour you quit listening. You tuned the noise out and threw yourself into hockey with a religious fervor. You knew when the time came, you'd find out one way or another. If Casey couldn't tell you, you'd hear it from the family.

Till then, you'd wait.

~***~

**AN: I tried to be good to my word, this time. Make up for the long hiatus. Hope you like it and I hope it is sufficiently angsty so you have something to look forward to.**

**There should be only two chapters left and possibly an epilogue. Gonna try to do it without, but I'm leaving myself the wiggle room, just in case. So, nearly at the end, here! Yay! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own LwD, make no claims on it, as a matter of fact, I've been away from it for so long, it probably doesn't even remember me. **

**Chapter 9**

_**You've been quiet**_ lately," you say and feel triumphant at his startled expression and nearly dropping the weights he's lifting. Carefully, Derek slips the hand bells back onto the rack, reaches for his towel and strolls over to the gym door.

He has an odd expression on his face, and you feel a stab of panic that you've come to such intensely 'Derek' territory. "You look like a religious vision," he says and towels his face off, hiding his eyes, you suspect, intentionally.

"You mean like the Grim Reaper," your palms are sweating and you feel fidgety, "…Or, you know, something equally grotesque." You know he means something more … flattering, but you're baiting him anyway. Like you want to _make_ him say he ... something else. He tosses the towel onto the weight bench, grabs his water and takes a long swallow. You watch his throat bob as he swigs nearly half the bottle. When he caps it and looks at you, your eyes drop, taking in his moist lips. You quickly look back up, too late, and one corner of his mouth tilts up.

"No," he says, "like – you know, you've got the sunlight halo-ing around you in the doorway," you think he steps back, but it might just be your imagination, "Like an angel." He says it like a curse, and you want to shake him, make him say _something_, anything to stop-

"Where's Hallendick?" he asks, and now he _is_ moving away from you. Back to the – _oh, no –_ weights. He straddles the bench and lays down, his shirt creeps up a bit, exposing his lean side, and you feel like you're keening inside. "Thought you two were," he grunts, lifting the bar above his head, "joined …at the …hip."

You snort. It's unladylike and awful and in front of anyone else, you'd be mortified. But Derek has seen the worst you've got so you don't really care. "Derek, I don't spend nearly the amount of time you think I do with-," You make the mistake of looking at him and he's lifting the damn bar, and his forearms are straining and his shoulders look massive and – when in the world did he go from 'scrappy' to 'Hercules' and why, oh why didn't you stay home this morning!

"With?" The bar clinks hard into the holder thingy and your eyes pop from his …amazing chest and he's studying you from his prone position, hair all mussed and skin kind of sweaty – but in a totally good way –

"With Declan. I don't spend as much time as you think…" You have to shake your head, because, frankly, you want to grab him and kiss him senseless and the feeling, the powerful force pulling you to him is rendering the speech centers of your brain stupid. "He's, uh, we're just dating, Derek… it's not like we're, you know, _serious_ or anything…"

Now he snorts. "Not what I heard."

"What do you mean?" You're distracted by his well muscled leg – that long ridge down the side of his thigh – as he slowly raises and lowers the bar.

"Means … I heard… you two were… practically … married," he grunts a little at the end of each word, keeping time to the lifting and lowering, and that keening inside you is growing louder.

Focus, Casey. "This is nonsense," you shake your head, "you're just trying to irritate me, and I came to talk about spring break." You take a deep breath and exhale quickly, focus your eyes on the stupid motivational posters on the wall, "I can't go home, Derek, I have way too much to do," it's no good trying not to look at him, he's just so, so… _visible_. "Are you going home? For break, I mean?"

"I was planning on it," he lets the bar down meticulously and pulls himself up before elaborating, leaving you excruciating seconds to fidget, while trying to _not_ look like you're trying not to look at him. He sits up, much too slowly, and hooks the towel around his shoulders. "Need me to pick up a box of books for you, Keener? A ream of paper? Box of pencils?"

"Ugh," you roll your eyes, but at the same time say a silent 'thank you' to him for exasperating you out of your… hormonal overdrive. "No, I actually need you to bring something home for me – it's a box of stuff I've been saving up for Nate- _Nathaniel_ – just some toys and stuffed animals…"

"Sure," he surprises you with his quick answer. You almost thank him, then, "I'll bring home the stuff you got for _our_ brother, Case," his face clouds over, "you just stay here and canoodle with your asshole boyfriend." You're momentarily speechless. He gets up and crosses to you, stopping a hairbreadth away from you. You can smell his clean scent and feel his rapid exhales in little puffs of air on your chin. You try to look him in the eye, but can't make it past his upper lip. He just stands there for a moment and then leans down, eye level. It's an oddly intimate and intimidating pose and, perversely, you wonder if the same mix of fear and exhilaration fills his opponents on the ice. "Anything to help along the lovebirds," he says. He's so composed it's scary.

You pull yourself up and look him in the eye. "I'm not talking about him with you, Derek."

"Oh," he says and just like that the composure cracks, "_now_ we're NOT talking about him, yeah?" It's bitter, the tone, the attitude, everything. "Just a few weeks ago you were dragging me on dates like some kind of pussy matchmaker, Case," his face screws up in an intense scowl, "'tell me what you think about him, Derek, help me figure this out, Derek, should I give it up to him, Derek-'"

You don't even know where you get it from, but your hand shoots out and you slap him, hard, across the face. "Shut up, Derek!" He doesn't even flinch. Doesn't move a muscle. You breath hard, there's more to say, but you can't figure out the words.

He wavers, just a slight sway, and his eyes are searching yours so deeply you feel naked. "Well," his voice is harsh, raspy, "that's what you were doing, wasn't it?" It's so quiet in the room you can almost hear _his_ pulse thrumming, "If I didn't know you better, Casey, I'd think you were playing some kind of sick game with me…"

You blink hard, willing back the wetness, "I don't play games, Derek – I'm, I was – I needed-,"

"You _needed_ – what? You _needed_ ME?" He laughs, "You, of all people should know that I don't _DO_ that!" Now he's so close you can see the gold flecks in his eyes, "But I _did_ it – didn't I? Like I was one of your girl friends!" He grips your arm, hard, "You can't be this stupid." His lips are so close, he's studying you – eyes roaming over your entire face. You're breathing fast and shallow, and studying him, too. Your heart drops, you literally feel it, and it hits you, _oh my god…he's the-_

He's leaning closer and reaches his hand up to brush a strand of hair off your cheek. He's going to kiss you, you feel the warning in your bones – run, now – but you can't. He leans down and just before your lips touch, he rests his forehead on yours. "Are you still seeing him, Case?" his voice is silky soft, now, and your heart is breaking just a little.

But remember, you don't play games. "Yeah… yes, Derek, I am."

He's stroking your neck lightly, his forehead still pressed lightly against yours. "Go away, Case," he says almost into your mouth. He gives your arm a tender shove as he lets go, "Go…away. I'll come by and get the box on my way out of town." He turns and goes back to his weight bench without another word.

_**You're at the**_ snack bar getting a quick lunch and, just as you're paying, you see Hallenbeck walk in, a petite blonde giggling like a hyena as he leans in and whispers something in her ear. Yeah. Immediately the urge to kill floods you with adrenalin, but you force it back down. Not your fight. Casey's a big girl and she can handle it. She made that pretty clear.

_**You see Derek **_across campus and wave furiously at him but he just waves back and shakes his head slightly and points in the direction of the practice rink. He's been virtually invisible since you saw him at the gym. You wish you could show him that Dex isn't super glued to your side – _look, see? I'm sitting here in the commons by myself, Derek _– but he won't even give you the chance.

_**Be careful!" she **_admonishes and you roll your eyes. Spring break and it's biting cold but before you can get the window rolled up she's leaning in the car and grabbing your hand, "And every time you even THINK of exceeding the speed limit think of this," and she clears her throat, "De-REK, slow DOWN!" You roll your eyes again, and roll up the window. Only Casey would affect a voice to mimic _herself_.

_**After spring break, **_everything equalizes. You see him around campus, even occasionally stopping to catch up with each other. Like friends, almost. There's a guardedness – he doesn't look you in the eye much, and the teasing is superficial and mostly only for the benefit of your family. Everything is so… polished.

It's like he's saying a long goodbye.

_**You find out **_you made varsity near the end of the term. Casey makes a fuss, calls George and Nora, arranges for the family to come down for a 'special celebration' and then prods you the whole time until you announce it to the table. "That's why you were too busy to hang out," she stage whispers to you, "you were focused on making the varsity team." You can tell she wishes it was the reason, but you both pretend not to notice. Proper amounts of adulation from the family ensue, as is your due, after all. Youngest player to make varsity in five years – give it up for The Derek Venturi, everyone.

No one gushes more than Casey – she's beside herself with pride… like it's a parting gift or something. The hell… it probably is. She's so… so supportive. Always a fixture at practices, even though you don't hang out much anymore. Guess it's the one little thing she figures she _can_ give you.

You shake your head and look up to her usual spot. Aaand… there she sits, bent over her books, hair a glossy waterfall hiding her features. You don't need to see to know her face is set in concentration. Hardly paying attention to anything on the ice. You shake your head again and fight a smile.

She looks up and spots you by the box as you take a water break. You wave and she smiles, kind of lopsided, and waves back. Then she gets a sort of odd look on her face and glances back at you kind of panicked. You look over your shoulder at the tunnel and see… _Hallenbeck?_ What the hell is he doing on the ice?

"Gather up, boys," coach's voice bounces around, calling everyone over to the opposite box. You make your way over, with the other offensive players, keeping watch on Hallenbeck out of the corner of your eye. _He's no skater, for sure._ The thought twists your lip into a tight smile. "You boys are getting prissy. I've called in these rowdies to put you through your paces," Coach grinned at them, "Rugby players haven't learnt to be as ladylike and polite as you lot, yet."

Hallenbeck looks right at you, and you flash him a dangerous smile and make a point of looking up at Casey. Who is, of course, beside herself. This should be fun.

It is, at first. Predictably, the rugby team is shite on the ice. What they lack in finesse, they make up for in brute violence. It doesn't take long to figure Hallenbeck's got a special hard on for you. The third time he rams you – and you, nowhere near the puck – you figure it's time to get creative. You wait for your chance, bide your time.

Finally, you're paired, hunched over, waiting for Coach to drop the puck and Hallenbeck looks at you and says, real quiet, "She's one sweet piece of ass, isn't she? How many times did you have her, Derek?" He smirks and glances in Casey's direction, "'Course she won't let me anywhere near that precious little c-" Creative goes out the window as you stick him well and truly upside his helmet. He fights falling but, as previously noted, he's not that good on skates. As he goes down, you see a couple of his mates starting toward you and figure, oh, what the hell, crook your elbow and come down on him before he can get back up.

Then it's on, as they say, like Donkey Kong.

It probably doesn't last longer than two and a half minutes, but when you're covered in padding and the adrenaline is pumping it seems much longer. You're swinging wild – there's more than just Hallenbeck of course, and since your sticking appeared unprovoked no one's very quick to pick up your side of it. S'alright, it's totally your fight. You've got him on the ground pounding his face, his mates are on you pounding your back, then Coach is pulling you up by the collar and Hallenbeck's so called "crew" is helping him up. You don't know what you look like but he's a damn sight, and you can't help it, you're grinning. Deserves it for disrespecting Cas-

Speaking of the devil woman – She's on the ice, slipping around, trying to run. You turn toward her uncoordinated approach, about to open your arms … when she bypasses you without so much as a glance and heads straight toward Hallenbeck. "Oh my gosh, Dex! Are you alright?" Finally she shoots a look at you, but it's not a concerned, kindly look, "De-REK! What is WRONG with you?" She's pushing the "crew" out of the way and tucking Hallenbeck's arm into hers and making over him like he's Grandmother's priceless crystal pie plate. "Look at your face, all this…blood, Oh, god – I hope your nose isn't -," She breaks off and shoots a stony look at you, "If you broke his nose, Derek, so help me!"

You stare at her, mystified. "Venturi!" Coach's voice rumbles, "to the Office!"

_**You go to**_ the athletic dorm straightaway from seeing Declan back to his room from the infirmary and approach the security desk. A very young man with a patchy mustache sits up and says, "Casey MacDonald?" You're taken aback for a moment but nod at him. "Derek left this note for you." His voice squeaks at the end and if you weren't in such a bad mood, you might laugh.

Outside the building, you step over to the security lamp and lean up against the pillar to read the note.

_Casey, I left this note because I knew you couldn't keep your nosy keener ass out of my business. Long story short, I got suspended, Coach sent me home for a week to 'cool my heels' and I'm still on varsity. I'll be on probation for the first semester of third year. Hope Hallendick's nose is broken. I get it, ok? You want that piece of shit. So, I'm done. Have at it. Don't come to me for advice. Don't ask me to help you move in with him. Don't ask me to be in the wedding. I'm not your freaking girlfriend. –D_

You fold the note in a daze. What is it, exactly, that you wanted from him? What _had_ happened, really? You would have sworn that you weren't playing games with him. But, what if you were. He's everything you _never_ wanted. Every girl you know wants Dex. And yet your _–brother – step-brother – same difference – _is all you can think about.

_**At first, home **_is no problem_**. **_George feigns irritation at the weeklong suspension, but can't really work up any real fury over it because all your course work is cake and the teachers like you so much you aren't in much danger of losing your scholarship. They'll let you make up the stuff you miss. Nora just fusses over you, which is nice, because, although you're convinced Hallenbeck came out on the shorter end, you've got some cuts and bruises too.

It's the freaking mess with Casey that has you sore the whole five days you're home. The fam is clueless about Casey's 'knight in shining armour' and the more they pick at you for pounding him, the more irritated you get. One night at dinner – you can't help it – George mentions the fight, makes a crack about your 'overprotective tendencies' where it comes to Casey and before you can stop yourself, you say something about Casey not needing your protection because she and Hallenbeck 'are shacking up this summer, so she's not your problem anymore.'

And that's when the real hell begins.

_**How COULD you**_, Derek!" He's looking at you like he's going to vomit and you feel very smug and justified, until you realize that Derek, for the first time since you've known him, actually looks …less than, well, _Derek_. It almost – _almost_ – deflates your anger, but then you remember your mother's face as you try to assure her that you are NOT "shacking up" with _Declan._ "What possessed you, Derek? How could you do something like that?" He just stands there looking at his shoes. The anger goes out of you with his silence. "Do you really hate me that much?" you ask.

He looks up sharply at you and his eyes are red, his mouth drawn in a tight line. "Yes," he mutters. "Yes, Casey. I hate you that much." He moves forward and without thinking you take a step back. He stops. "I've hated you since the 'get to know each other dinner'," his throat bobs, "when I sent Ralph to pretend he was me." He takes a tentative step forward. "I hated you when you moved into my house, tried to take my room," a step closer, "I hated, _hated_ you when you dated Sam." Another hesitant step. "I hated you because Marti loved you so quickly." Now he's so close you can touch him without even reaching out your hand. "I hate you because you're a frustrating, keener, know-it-all _sister_, and I hate you because I love you, want you, can't have you…" He's wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in and his kiss is warm and home and all you want.

As he pulls away, he brushes a kiss across your forehead, "I hate you because you're gonna marry that nob…" his arms tighten, "and I don't have a right to stop you."

You open your eyes, and sway backwards a little as he drops his arms to his sides. You reach in your pocket and pull out the envelope, crumpled now from your pocket. He looks down, and seeing the type of envelope it is – even Derek isn't stupid enough to miss it – he looks back up at you stricken, with an emotion you don't want to think about right now. You thrust it at him and he just looks down, lets it fall to the floor.

"I'm not shacking up with Declan, Derek." You walk out before you lose it, leaving him rooted to the spot, staring at the envelope.

**AN: This is up; there's one more. No broken promises, this time. **~Solard


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own LwD and have no malicious intent in writing this chapter. All characters are property of …whoever they're the property of. **

**Chapter 10**

_**I just don't**_ understand why you have to rush it, Case," your mother is starting to fuss with your hair for the thousandth time and you reach up and take her hand gently. She looks at you, "Well? Honey, you both have another year, it's hard enough, college, when you're single…but _married_?"

You pull her hands into your lap and give her your best reassuring smile, "Mom, we've gone over this. I was gone an entire semester, we were apart long enough to, you know, figure things out."

She's looking down at her lap, you know she's fighting tears, "But figure out _what_ honey?"

You let out a sigh, "Us, him and me. I was so… so ambivalent, you know? But being away… I guess I just finally saw things in the proper light. _Him_ in the proper light."

She sighs heavily, "Exactly my point, Casey – it's not just that you haven't dated all that long, it's also the whole…well, _situation_." Her eyes are moist and she's going to make you cry, too. This really _wasn't _how you'd planned things to go…

"Oh.. yes, yes I know... Well, unexpected surprises happen all the time, mom – I mean, look at Nathaniel, you weren't planning him, right?"

Giving your hand a little squeeze, she straightens up her face into a smile. Getting up, she pulls you to your feet, "You're absolutely right," she gives you a little nudge on your hip, "Now turn around and let me look at all those yards of artfully arranged tulle!" Now you're the one who falters.

"Mom, you don't… I mean…" You're seized by a sinking feeling, and overwhelmed by the knot of tears in your throat. "I'm not making a mistake, am I? I mean, I know it's weird – it'll be weird for me too…" She squeezes your hands again and fusses with your veil a little more.

"Give him time. The men in our family are strong, Casey." She moves toward the door and watching her leave hits you with another attack of jitters.

"Mom!" She turns and you rush to the door. "Will you… will you go tell Derek I have to talk to him?"

She looks at you very sternly, "I don't… think that's a good idea, honey, I mean, he's-,"

"I know he doesn't really want to talk to me yet, but…" you bite your lip, "Just tell him I'll never bother him with this type of thing again, okay?" She studies you a moment, and then comes to a decision, shakes her head and mutters, 'oh, alright'. Then she's gone.

_**It's fine, Case,**_ I promise," she's really cracking up, about to go into full on melt-down mode, "George won't mind – in fact, I'm sure he'll be happy to do it, okay?" You're a little extra careful with her feelings lately, because, well, the _situation_ and how she's handled it so well… Well, how could you not be a little bit kinder to her? This was never in her plan. You know it, even though it kills you.

"Oh, thank you – thank you for …you know, asking for me and everything." She starts to lean over to, you don't know, kiss you or hug you or some such and you back away.

"Nah, now stop – you'll get make-up all over my rented tux and I'll lose my security deposit." It's a lame attempt at levity – you both know it, but you both still laugh and then after the laughing fades you stand there looking at each other a long time. "Well," you break the spell, "this hoe down is about to start, so I better go get in place." You turn to go, but she reaches out and pulls you back. "Case, you know you're not -,"

"Wait, please, Derek, just-," she bites her lip and fidgets a little and, god, but you want to muss her hair and smear her lipstick. _Down boy._ "Just, before you go join the rest of the family, tell me…" she swallows with difficulty, "just – am I making a mistake?"

You swallow too, a dry, desperate sound and force yourself to give the answer you dread, despite the obvious truth of it, "Yeah… yeah, Case, you probably are." You smile a little sad, "But that's okay, because you're gonna do it anyway." Her face crumbles as you start to shut the door, "Hey – stop that, woman – your make up!" You step back in quickly and snap the door shut. "Here, here, let me-," you pull your handkerchief out and start to wipe, then think better of it, "you better do it – I'll make you look like Alice Cooper."

"On purpose," she says and hiccups.

"Of course – come on." You watch her dab, fighting the urge to pull her into your arms, "You know," she looks up at you, "No one will ever care for you quite the way I do, Casey MacDonald."

She sniffles, "I know, Derek Venturi."

"Well…I better let you get on with it…" but you don't move.

"Yeah." Neither does she.

"I'll see you after, yeah?"

"Not if I see you first!" You both say it the same time and laugh a little, then you're out the door and down the corridor, wondering what the rest of your life will be like, after.

_**The nerves hit**_ right about the time you round the corner, not knowing, even at the last minute if he'll be out there once the music starts. Crazy, that you're going forward anyway, not like you. But then, you haven't been yourself since you decided to get engaged.

As you sweep into the foyer with Lizzy trailing behind holding your train, there he is. You look up and tears clog your throat and spill in big plops from your eyes. "Liz –," you look back at her desperately. She sees the tears and takes in your father, looking contrite and austere all at the same time. Lizzy's the one who calls out, "Daddy!" and starts to bolt toward him, but checks herself and hands you the tissue. Her eyes gleam as she whispers to you, "See? I told you he'd have a change of heart!" You hesitate a second, unsure. He looks at you a long moment, then crooks his arm out, an obvious invitation. You glide to him and place your hand in the hollow of his arm.

"I'm so glad, Daddy, really, I know it's not what-,"

He cuts you off, "Sweetheart, don't…" his voice is thick and you see the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, "I should apologize to you… this is your decision, and, and…" he can't continue, both because he's choked up, and because –_oh no_ – the music's started. You both look at Lizzy and she gives an encouraging nod. You look into his eyes. He says, "You ready?" You take a deep breath and say, "Yes." Then, you're off.

_**She's coming down**_ the aisle, and you almost tear up, when you see she's on her father's arm and not George's. You feel a swell of pride for him, like you did when he cancelled his flight and came back after Casey's disastrous dinner party. She deserves it, she does. She's the best thing Dennis has ever done, and it's more than time the man realizes it. As she makes her way down the aisle, she turns and looks at you and your heart is in your chest. The next few moments are surreal as you watch her walk the last few steps and she's close enough for you to see the bouquet shaking in her hands. _This is it, then. She's really going through with it._ You're heart shoots up into your throat and stays there for the next few moments.

"We are gathered here," the minister's voice makes you jump and you glance around to see if anyone noticed, but they're all focused on Casey and hey, so are you. "…family and friends to join these two young people in the holy state of matrimony…" She sneaks another look at you and your breathing speeds up. You wink at her and she rolls her eyes. Like old times. "Who gives this woman to be wed?" Dennis jumps a little and says, badly, "I, her father, does, do…" The guests laugh a little and Nora covers her hand with her mouth and looks down. He turns and sits with George and Nora, an embarrassed smile on his face. Normally, this is the cue for the groom to step next to the bride. But nothing happens. You hold your breath and your chest tightens. You look at Lizzy, and then Edmond. There's an uncomfortable silence, everyone starts to fidget and you're absolutely frozen.

"Derek!" Casey whispers, her face a terrified mask. It breaks you out of the paralysis and you take the steps two at a time, breaking away from Sam and Ralph and Eli – your friend from Queens – and stumbling on the last step, you bump into her and grab her into a clumsy hug. Anything to keep her from losing it in front of all these people. You stop and look at her for a moment and she smiles and nods, then you turn and look up at the minister, smile, and say – loud enough for the first few rows to hear – "Sorry, Father, forgot my cue." The house breaks up, and during the laughter she turns to you quickly and says, "Thanks for not standing me up, Derek."

"I worked hard enough to get you here," you say, "I'm not about to let you go now."

The end of The Truce, ironically, signaled the end of the war. You know your life won't be easy, you'll be step-siblings and husband and wife. She's keeping her name – at least until you can muscle her into taking yours – so that'll be wierd. You both are blood related to Nate – so that's even wierder. And it was touch and go whether or not Dennis was going to kill you and hide your corpse. You really started to think Casey would be a widow before the honeymoon even started. You thought you'd almost lost her when you saw that damn envelope. You'll never stop thanking the gods that it wasn't what you thought it was. Although, a semester abroad for Casey meant a whole hell of a lot of separation… just when things were looking up. And Hallenbeck? Not even worth worrying about, as it turns out. Call him a dodged bullet and be done with it, shall we?

You look at her one more time and smile. She smiles back. She probably _won't_ be when she finds out what you did to the car, but she'll get over it. She always does…

You both turn toward the priest, ready to face life, after.

**AN: Well, that's it. I tried to make up for the broken promises, and not post until I was done. And so I did. The Truce ends **_**almost**_** exactly how I envisioned it. If you're still reading, drop me a line and tell me if it worked for you? I have appreciated every one of your comments and PM's, thank you so much! ~ **Solard


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